By Tooth And Nail
by Ferrebee
Summary: A raid on an illegal sex ring leads to the uncovering of something hidden.
1. Case 0173: Government Gumshoes

Jorge Amos was known for his skills as a dependable bounty hunter. It came at no surprise that the Government would take an interest in his activities.

The phone rang idly in the office of Amos Bail Bonds. Jorge heard the ringing and quickly walked over to the front desk from the dusty records room where he was adding information to a client. File still in his right hand, he picked up the phone and pressed it to his left cheek.

"Amos Bail Bonds, no job too small; This is Jorge, to whom am I speaking to?" the bounty hunter spoke, his voice strong in baritone at the volume of casual conversation. The voice on the other end responded sharply, his accent hailing from Boston, clearly.

"Mr. Amos, this is Special Agent Dewey Kovic from the ATF. You're being tapped, and monitored. Just a formality. I called because there's a job I have for you that requires some outside legwork... Are you interested?"

Jorge took a moment to sit at the desk and an place the file in his hand down, before reaching into the bottom drawer and retrieve a bottle of Scotch and a whiskey glass. As he readied his drink, he spoke.

\- "Naturally I'd tell you G-men to go fly a kite, but business has been slow. What's up?"

Kovic gave a smile that could be heard on the other line.

" A little birdie told me in the Chicago State Pen that the rap we got him on is tied to a larger network. Russian mob and Triads handling guns, drugs, hot cars, even people out of port. So far its just hearsay, but a lot more Triads are showing up in the morgue; 7.62 Tokarev's in their bodies...We'll send you the file later today, but we'll front you the normal going rate if you kick rocks down to O'Hare to our office. Oh, and we never had this conversation. Kovic out."

With that, the line was cut. Jorge hung up and sighed, downing the last few drops of ripple from his glass.

"Great," he muttered as he waited for the file to arrive...

Jorge sat in his office for what seemed like an eternity, until a man in a fitted suit walked into the building with an air of nonchalance. His eyes covered by sunglasses, the lapel pin on his coat glistened and twinkled in the ambient light as he extended his left arm to produce a briefcase, the large ATF emblem on its front marked embroidered into the leather. Jorge reached a hand out to take the case, and with that, the spectacled man took his leave just as quickly as he arrived.

A little taken aback, Jorge sat back down at the desk, before opening the contents of the case. Inside lay a manila folder, plane tickets, two large stacks of 100 dollar bills, as well as a badge: Serial No. 44020 ATF Enforcement Agent.

He then reached for the manila envelope, opened it and removed its contents. 6 photographs and a dossier lay inside. The Photos were of various individuals. What was more intriguing was the dossier itself.

 _To Field Agent 44020 from ATF HQ, Washington DC_

 _Congratulations on your appointment to Field Division, Chicago. We at the ATF appreciate your willingness to assist us in this urgent matter._

 _As briefed by Special Agent Kovic recently, intelligence cross-referenced between the FBI, CIA, and our offices in Chicago has revealed a pair of large smuggling operations. One is headed by the Bratva, or Russian Mafia, and the other is run by a local Triad affiliate, Salakau. Salakau is usually not frequented in the midwest, but we can't rule out an expansion by the Triads in this area. The same goes for the Russian Gangsters. We've recently had an uptick in gun violence with these gangs fighting for turf and ports in the bay. To complicate matters, we're hearing word from local precincts that The Chicago Outfit are looking to recoup their losses and begin the purchase of local property for both rival outfits to operate simultaneously._

 _Normally, we would use our field agents to accomplish intelligence gathering and subterfuge, but due to current government restrictions and cutbacks, we've had to outsource for the legwork. This is where you come in._

 _Upon your arrival at O'Hare, regain contact with Special Agent Kovic so he can give you your first assignment. You were referred to our offices by Agent [Redacted] Alias: "Spooner". She has a large amount in confidence in you, as does the Field Office. Don't let us down._

 _PLEASE UTILIZE MATCHES TO DISPOSE OF FLASH PAPER._

With that, Jorge took the badge and placed it on his waistband to his cargo pants, and closed the suitcase to take it to the armory, which lay just beyond the records room.

Upon entrance, Jorge immediately disposed of the flash paper with a lighter, and turned to his locker. Beyond the keypad resided his gear: Tactical Vest, gloves, holster and magazine pouches, and his old Beret.

"Showtime."

A few minutes later, fully dressed and outfitted, his AR-15 and M1911 in tow, he walked outside of the store, locked up, and walked to his Jeep. He rested the rifle on his passenger seat, as well as the suitcase, before driving off to the Airport to catch his flight.

[6 Hours Later]

[Chicago, ATF Field Office]

Jorge stepped foot into the office, suitcase and weapons on his person. The Secretary sat back a little, surprised at the arrival of the Bounty Hunter. After a second of watching him, she tilted her head in the direction of Special Agent Kovic's Office. Jorge gave a slight nod before walking to the doorway. With his free hand, he knocked.

"She's open!" The blustered voice of Agent Kovic shouted. Jorge opened the door and stepped in. Kovic stood at a short 5-foot-4. Stocky and slightly paunchy, salt and pepper hair that danced past his earlobes, with stubble and an annoyed, tired expression. The suit he wore exacerbated his appearance, as if he had been sleeping in his suit for awhile. The Special Agent simply smiled and motioned for Jorge to Sit down.

"I trust your flight was uneventful...?" Kovic asked, reaching into his desk to grab a flask. Jorge tilted his head from side to side quickly; something he picked up in Iraq that denoted indifference.

-"Followed your orders. Got these 6 photos I wanted to ask you about."

Kovic thought for a second as he opened his flask, then drank the contents, the aftertaste of which gave him a sour expression for a moment, before he cleared his throat.

"Yeah...Each one of those photographs depicts a major player in the Smuggling business right now. I did tell you this was going to be a lucrative endeavor for you, didn't I? Each one of these guys are wanted by the FBI. Bounties on their heads ranging from 1 million to 12 million...Now, mind you, if you're going to get the bounties, they need to be Alive. I can't stress that enough. Alive and unharmed. Otherwise you'll lose your license, and I'll lose my job. Agent Spooner personally requested you for this job, and she'll be your handler...We can get into bounty details momentarily...For now, lets discuss where you're going."

With that, Kovic returned the flask to his desk, before walking over to a map on the east end of his office, pointing to a spot in the great lakes next to chicago.

"Belmont harbor F, in Lake Michigan. Agent Spooner's collecting intelligence as we speak, you come into contact with her on North Lake Shore Drive, it overlooks the warehouse she's investigating. From what she's told me so far, they're offloading pallets of stuff onto cargo trucks for further distribution. I highly recommend heading to her first. That's all I got for you, Agent."

Jorge didn't say much, but gave an acknowledging nod, walking back out of the office and to the rental truck he had left parked outside.

Jorge took the expressway to Belmont Harbor and parked his car, just as the sun started to cast its sleepy gaze westward behind the city. From here, he got out and retrieved his gun-bag holding his AR, and slung it atop his left shoulder.

After walking a ways between port warehouses, most of which were for sale or condemned, he came across a four-door black sedan with tinted windows, obscuring the driver within. With an air of caution in his actions, he rested his right hand on the holster where his pistol resided and with a few careful strides, stopped beside the driver side window and gave a knock to the tinted pane next to him.

The window rolled down just enough for Jorge to get a good look at a pair of deep brown eyes. He swore they blinked, but amidst the cigarette smoke billowing out of the car, he wasn't sure.

"You're late. Take shotgun." The voice commanded. Female. Jorge slowly walked behind the rear of the vehicle, before reaching for the passenger door and opening it, another bellows-full of smoke puffed out from the release of its confinement, as he slid into the leather-clad seat and closed the door behind him. As he turned to face the driver, he met with the barrel of a pistol shoved up against his nose.

"Jorge. Jorge Amos, right?" The voice asked, uneasy about the situation she had initiated. Jorge calmly rested back into his seat and took a deep breath of second-hand smoke, before exhaling his answer.

-"Yes."

A sigh of exasperation escaped the woman's lips as she turned on the dashboard light, revealing herself to the bounty hunter. A young brunette, with light olive skin and rosy cheeks seemed happy to meet him, like an old friend. Immediately, Jorge relaxed a bit more, his eyes peaking at the familiarity of who she was.

"Delia? Delia Charles?" He asked.

-"Small world, Jorge. I didn't think you'd show." She said as she holstered the pistol, turning the dashboard light off, having met each other's acquaintance again. Jorge gave a warm smile before speaking.

"You're Agent 'Spooner', huh? Nice alias…Why, of all people, did you get me into this?" He asked. Delia's expression of warmth faded as she stared ahead at the warehouse to their front.

-"Because, You're the only person I know who wouldn't pass up an opportunity like this, Mr. Law degree…how's that Lawyer future you had coming along anyway?"

"Dried up. Doing Bounty Recovery jobs now. Got my own place out in Colorado. Doin' alright…" That word. Alright. A lie, if he ever said one. His wife wanted no business with him or his business, and they were about to finish their divorce filings, with a son he knew he'd never really get to know intimately. Even so, he would give anything to be with his son right now, but duty called, and it always would, and that was the irony of it. A good paying job and he never went home.

Delia tilted her head at that statement, as she sensed apprehension in his voice as he spoke.

-"Doesn't sound like the Jorge I know…Cheer up?" She asked. Jorge would have none of it as he ignored her request.

"What are we looking at here, anyway, Spooner?" He said aloud, looking to his gun-bag, before taking it off his shoulder and placing it between his legs while he sat.

Agent Spooner sighed, before closing her eyes for a moment to recollect her mental notes.

"This warehouse is held by the Triads, acting as a fish-shipping front. They're bringing the drugs in by boat from Lake Michigan, smuggled in from Canada. They line the bottom of those large crates with Cocaine, Heroin, or Weapons parts, lay a tarp over it, and pile fish and ice on top, before loading it into those delivery trucks at the front of the warehouse leading to the avenue next door. When they're ready, they'll leave and drive them all across Illinois, distributing their product."

Jorge seemed impressed.

-"So, these guys are pretty much the real deal…how do you know they're Triad and not just some local hoods working for them?"

"I don't. However, I do see a well-dressed man visiting every day with the warehouse staff. He must be in charge of the operation. He's due to arrive sometime soon, around Eight tonight. It's Six-thirty. All we gotta do is wait, and then we'll track his movements and bag him."

-"You say it as if he'll allow himself to be arrested."

"Maybe; but I didn't get put in this position by being apprehensive. If I take this guy down, they might find someone to replace him, yeah…but he'll be worth more to us as a source of information. It's worth the risk of a gunfight if we can capture him." Jorge shrugged and gave a sharp inhale, steeling himself for the task to come.

-"Then what am I here for, if you know what you're doing?"

"Extra hands. Bitch-work…Shooting tires with that fancy pea-shooter you have there." She mocked. Jorge rose an eyebrow at her jesting.

-"Funny you say that, seeing as how I work on commission…I've got 6 people to nab without a scratch, and I'll be counting money 'til my fingers bleed."

"Sounds just like you, Ever after the Benjamin. Your wife know you have a money problem?"

-"What my wife thinks is irrelevant. We're done, anyway. She doesn't want to see or hear of my sorry ass again…Taking the kid, too…Hey, how'd you know I was married?"

"The ring on your hand."

-"Oh." Jorge seemed to take a pause at that answer. That ring on his left finger sat there gleaming brightly. He wasn't sure how to respond to that answer, aside from removing the ring and pocketing it, which he did.

"What happened to us…Did I end it, or was it just fate that we stopped seeing each other, Delia?"

Delia seemed confused as she glanced back to him, before looking back to the warehouse, producing a pair of binoculars from her left side, peering through them as she answered.

"Your ambition got the best of you, Jorge. From what I can tell, it still has. You're not ready to live a normal life. You're always chasing that glory you earned in Iraq, like you got a taste for it and you never let it go; always looking for more to feed that ego of yours…" She seethed as he watched her. She took a moment to sigh, before acknowledging her faux pas.

"I'm sorry." She said. Jorge took this personal blow and tucked it away for later.

The 8-o-clock hour rolled past without a hitch, and like clockwork, a black SUV rolled in through the gate, stopping just outside the warehouse. All four doors opened, and a man dressed in a white suit appeared, surrounded by several men in matching black suits with red shirts.

-"Showtime, Jorge. Now all we gotta do is wait for him to leave, then we'll follow and catch him," Delia chirped as she turned the car on, turning her headlights off to avoid detection.

"I'm surprised they haven't noticed us…or if they have, they're keeping real cool about it." Jorge commented as he now looked through the scope of his AR he had unpacked from the gun-bag an hour earlier. He could make out a few roving guards, but nothing that could really interfere with the capture of the HVT.

-"We'll know soon enough. If they start casting boats off before the cargo is offloaded, that's our sign that they know we're here, and we'll have to apprehend him on the spot…"

As she said this, the boats did in fact, start casting off before offloading their cargo. Agent Spooner cursed under her lips as she put the car into Drive, before taking a hard left onto the Harbor road to speed to the F Harbor across the way.

"Jorge, Get out and get our man! I'm going to call for backup!" She shouted as she slammed the brakes just outside the Harbor entrance, a pair of rusted gates with traffic barriers restricting movement. Jorge flung the passenger door open and ran out, AR in tow as he sped past the gate and behind one of the concrete barriers, taking the safety off his weapon. It wasn't long before a few Triad hoods appeared from within the Warehouse, taking shots at the bounty hunter.

A round missed its mark as it struck the barrier just below his face, forcing Jorge's head down. With a curse, he quickly stood back up, gun at the ready, before squeezing off a few rounds at his attackers. Striking the wood doorway where the mook was hiding, he saw a pistol drop from behind the threshold, followed by a body slumping over, a pool of crimson forming around his body.

Now they were pissed: A cry in Chinese caused all the gangsters to show up with their toys. AKs, Mac-10s, shotguns, pistols, anything they could shoot at him, they would.

Jorge was in a tight spot. Rounds impacted the barrier and began to whittle away at its integrity, the High powered rounds from AKs being fired punched holes into the concrete, turning it into dust. Jorge popped his weapon above cover and quickly sprayed of a burst, before moving across a 10 foot gap to the other barrier, made of hardened plastic and filled with water and sand slurry. Bullets struck the barrier, but failed to penetrate all the way through. Jorge only had a few moments before his cover would expire, however. He had to make those moments count.

With a speed learned from the crucible of combat, Jorge exposed himself once more to fire off the last of his magazine, taking the time to hit targets of opportunity. Each mook that dared to peek his head out longer than an instant was struck with a 5.56 in their body. Whether or not it was fatal was irrelevant to Jorge- He saw one objective in mind: Capture the White suited man.

Jorge wasn't sure what his next move would be; He was stuck behind a barrier with nearly a dozen Salakau Triads gunning for him in the twilight of the windy city. Dropping his spent magazine, Jorge now reached into his ammo pouch, loaded a fresh magazine into his weapon and tripped the bolt catch, now reloaded.

Just as the bolt closed, he heard the sound of an engine roaring at the top of its lungs as the sound of tires over asphalt became more and more audible, finally coming to a sudden, screeching halt. Amos craned his neck around to see a single figure exit the driver's side of the vehicle, ducking behind the front left tire. With a moment to pause, the figure then rose up from behind their cover and drilled three rounds into a crate where a goon was hiding behind, the rounds penetrating through the wood and into his body, causing him to tumble to the ground, writhing in pain. Jorge wasn't sure if the figure was Agent Spooner or another ATF Agent trying to give him assistance.

This was not the case, nor would Jorge have to wait. As the voice wasn't Deliah's, or anyone he knew, for that matter. She sounded younger, intense. Her timbre of voice was more along the lines of Chicago suburb than inner city.

"You're clear to fire, Agent!" The voice shouted. Jorge took this moment to take a deep breath and peek up over his cover to ready his weapon. With the squeeze of a trigger, he let fly a long, drawn out burst as he mantled over the barrier, sprinting to the edge of the warehouse door. This whole time, the Triads were busy trying to either return fire or escape. Some decided to nosedive into the lake, while others were intent on protecting their boss's assets.

The gunfire seemed more intense now, as Jorge now leaned into the doorway to empty the last of his magazine, before reloading.

"Cover me!" He could hear the woman behind him yell. "I'm coming up!"

Jorge didn't hesitate, but there was indeed a roll of the eyes as he fired his weapon around the corner into the main room of the building. As the dusky woman pressed her figure against the opposite side of the frame, Jorge now noticed this woman wasn't ATF at all. She was here for the bounty, too…

-"Lookin' to nab that guy in the white unharmed…Got too many mooks around to knuckle his ass, though." Jorge didn't mind informing the woman just what the situation was- This wasn't a time to hide information, not during a gunfight, at least.

"That's Sun Yang, son of Khan Yang." She remarked, glancing into the warehouse to not only take a shot from her pistol, but to maintain target I.D. Jorge was impressed for the moment. He then fished around his webbing for a flashbang.

-"Sounds like you know him?"

"More like hunting." The woman muttered. "He's in charge of the distribution of hard drugs and illegal guns from this side of Chicago. PD and ATF have been putting off busting this kid until they had enough evidence. Now I have him where I want him, and you're going to help me." Her voice was direct, as Jorge sighed.

-"I suppose. How about 50/50 split?" Jorge suggested.

"I just bailed you out, 60/40." She barked.

-"55/45."

"Done," She said, vehemently.

"Deal. Take the back, I'll flash and clear the front. Whoever nabs him gets to buy the first round." Even in dire situations, Jorge could make a game out of the sketchiest hand life dealt him; it's how he survived, mentally.

The woman nodded and took off, circling around the warehouse to stop at the side entrance. Just as she pressed her back against the frame of the doorway, the flashbang Jorge threw had gone off, releasing a brilliant flash of light, followed by a thunderous boom.

The room illuminated in a blinding flash of light, as the percussive announcement of gunfire created an opening for Jorge to enter the atrium of the warehouse. Standing before a handful of men still rubbing their eyes or holding their ears. Jorge took a moment to pick out his bounty, still gripping his pistol in his off hand as he rubbed his eyes to get the sting out of them. Jorge quickly gripped the man by the lapel of his jacket and threw him to the ground, kicking the pistol out of the man's hand as the sound of sirens wailed just outside the harbor. Within moments, ATF had secured the perimeter. The last remaining mooks dropped their weapons and waited to be taken into custody.

Jorge stood there with his boot atop the man's chest; the barrel of the bounty hunter's AR-15 placed precariously a mere foot from Sun Yang's face. The woman who had helped Jorge now stood behind him, holstering her pistol within her blouse jacket. Jorge now had a chance to get a good look at her.

Sure enough, her black curls and dusky skin only accentuated the blue in her eyes. Her outfit was one of the conservative business type, complete with a smart skirt and hosiery. She stood almost a complete foot lower than him, but her skills as a gunfighter were nothing short of extraordinary.

"I didn't get the chance to thank you…" He cued, waiting for a name.

-"Don't mention it. Gotta be careful around these parts. Crime in this town comes and goes with the seasons." Obviously, she was being reluctant to disclose her name, and this made Jorge all the more curious.

"Yeah. What's your name?" He pried.

-"Not your business," She pushed.

"It is my business when I gotta split my bounty with a nobody."

There was a moment of hesitation, before she reached into a pocket of her blouse and handed Jorge a card, before walking off. Before he could respond to her, she had disappeared, the faint sound of tires kicking against the asphalt as she sped away before the ATF arrived.

"My father will make you pay for this tenfold. You never cross a Yang, Nobody does! My father owns this city!" Sun Yang growled amidst this perceived display of injustice. Jorge gave a curt smile and took the safety off his weapon.

-"You know, last time I checked, I wasn't the one with a gun to my face…"He commented, before hearing the sounds of footfalls echoing behind him from the Warehouse doorway.

"My God, Jorge…" Delia shouted from across the warehouse. "Usually ATF agents wait for backup, but in this case, I have to say job well done!" She continued approaching Jorge until she stopped just behind him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "You sure you don't want to get in the ATF? We could use guys like you."

-"No…I'm here for the bounty. That's it…By the way, here he is. Sun Yang, in one piece." Delia reached down and roughly handled him, cuffing him and shoving the white-dressed Triad against a pair of broad-shouldered ATF agents who whisked him away to a waiting unmarked car. Delia walked along the bodies scattered across the warehouse; some dead, some wounded.

"Agent Kovic is going to want to speak with you after this, because this is one of our most successful seizures yet. Look at all this stuff!" She shouted with excitement as she opened up one of the cases of day-old fish, and reached in, retrieving a MAC-10 and a few magazines, placing them on the table in front of her as she reached back in, pulling out a duct-taped package of unknown origin. She then placed it on the table, reaching into her pocket to stab a hole into the parcel.

"Jorge. Look at this; That seem like Cocaine to you?" Delia asked, holding out a pinch of what looked like unmolded, off-white clay. Jorge quietly took the knife and allowed the stench of the clay permeate his nostrils, turning his nose up at the product."

-"No clue, but it stinks…like Gas…If it is Cocaine, then it's not finished with the production process. That means the narcotics smuggled here are unprocessed and there is a processing plant here in town, right?" Delia nodded at Jorge's hunch, and played with the paste a bit more.

"Yeah, that sounds feasible. This side of Chicago has been neglected for quite some time, so someone probably had the good sense to set up shop in one of the abandoned factories around town. Which one, however, is hard to tell."

-"Either way. Whatever kind of operation they were running, it's done for now." Jorge now looked at the card still in his right hand, reading the Text on its embossed front.

-"Gunsmith Cats…Your Neighborhood gun shop and master armory shop." He said quietly, reading the address. "Yo, Delia. I found this card on one of the guys here; should I go check this out and see if there's a lead there?" He asked, before Delia snatched the card away from Jorge's hand. Her eyes scanned the card for a moment, before turning it back to him.

"Nope," She said with a smile. "Gunsmith Cats haven't been in business for years, must've been just a souvenir the guy picked up before he got involved with the Salakau…I mean, you can go check, but I doubt you'll find anything."

-"Right…" He said, walking back to the package of Paste still resting on the table, before taking a pinch of it and pocketing it in one of his empty ammo pouches when nobody was looking. "If it's all the same to you, Tell Agent Kovic I'm going to catch my breath and I'll speak with him in the morning."

"I think he'll understand…" Spooner said off hand, digging through another container of day-old fish. She was so caught up in the excitement of finding drugs and guns, she didn't see Jorge leave.

It was sometime later in the evening when Jorge had finally found his way to the defunct gun shop called Gunsmith Cats. Parking his vehicle across the street from the establishment, he looked at the business card once again, before confirming that he had the correct address. Stepping out of the vehicle, he closed the door and locked the vehicle, as he felt the pressing gale of a storm creeping up in the darkness and street lamps of Chicago. Walking up to the door, he stopped at the sign:

CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE

SORRY FOR THE INCONVENIENCE

Jorge was about to turn away and head back to his hotel, when he noticed the door was open, jiggling in the wind. He quietly opened the door and heard the metal door knock against a bell above the frame, announcing his arrival. As the door closed behind him fully, he heard the glass door lock from the inside.

"Hello…?" He announced, his boots knocking against the aged wooden floor of the shop, noticing the display case at the end of the room, the wall behind it covered by a tan leather tarp. Each step he made kicked up years of dust, along with creating pressure the wood had not known in ages. The floor moaned with each step as the wood flexed under Jorge's weight.

Stopping now in front of the display case, he saw a handful of newspaper clippings taped against the glass.

LOCAL BOUNTY HUNTER FOILS GUN SMUGGLING RING

CHICAGO GUNSMITH CAT CATCHES INTERNATIONAL TERRORIST

His eyes were weary of the lack of light in the building, but as they adjusted against the contrasting paper and ink of the yellowing newspaper clippings, he couldn't help but hear the sound of a slide of a pistol sliding back home, behind him.

"Hands up. Turn around." The female voice ordered sternly. Jorge did as he was told, putting his hands up behind his head and turning around. Amidst the darkness, he could see the pinpoint ray of red light resting against his sternum.

"What are you doing here?" She asked. Jorge gave a slight tilt of his head as he answered her question.

-"Door was open. You gave me your card back there, Belmont's F Harbor. I wanted to talk figures with you."

"No. No you want me dead, right? You walked in here looking for a score, that's how this is going to play out when they question me after I shoot you, don't fuck me with your bullshit, buddy."

-"Whoa, Whoa. Shoot me? No, M'am. I'm not here to incite violence, I'm only here to ask a few questions. ATF don't know I'm here, and I wanted to give my thanks, that's all I was doing here."

Suddenly, the darkness of the room flashed with dim fluorescent lighting above him. Now he could see the woman. It wasn't the dusky-skinned female from before. No. She was shorter. Blonde. Fearful, she seemed, especially with one hand on her gun and the other on her wheelchair.

"I was nowhere near Belmont," She barked. "You must be talking about Rally." Jorge gave a shrug and sighed.

-"This must be a misunderstanding, Miss…I was only here to thank the woman I met earlier for helping me."

The blonde didn't budge, giving a thoughtful stare at Jorge's body. "You can thank her when she gets back. 'Til then, don't move, or I'll drill you."


	2. Case 0173-2: Government Gumshoes Pt 2

It seemed like an eternity to Jorge, who stood there quietly. This woman had the drop on him and it could end badly for him if she considered him a threat at any point. However, she spoke up quietly, inquiring about him.

"What's your name?" She asked. Jorge answered matter-of-factly. After all, she was the one with the gun.

-"Jorge. Jorge Amos." His eyes glanced to the woman in the wheelchair, her expression steeled, but beyond that façade, he could see fear in her eyes. He took a moment to sigh and compose himself before speaking.

-"…My turn. What's with the wheelchair…?" The blonde looked shocked that he'd even ask a question, before contemplating the answer.

"An accident." Was all she said, before her grip on the pistol tightened somewhat. The silence and tension between the two was thick enough to cut with the back of a spoon.

Jorge's eyes glanced to the gun counter, noting the advantage he had over a disabled woman. Out of respect for her, which was probably a foolish thing now, he held still. The fragile-looking woman glanced at the doorway, then back to her target, holding her aim still on the man's face.

"What's the story with you? Not every day a bounty hunter from out of town comes to visit the town of the competition's home."

-"…I'm a hunter in Colorado. ATF needed someone who wasn't affiliated with the Government to work as a field agent to work a bit more 'off the cuff' with them and apprehend criminals vital to the black market trade here…"

"Not that…What's your history?" Jorge had relaxed a bit, and had leaned against the back of the counter, his hips resting gently on the frame of the case.

-"Graduated from USC With a degree in Criminal Justice. Joined the US Army, got sent overseas, did a few tours, Came back and I…couldn't fit in with the force. I figured I'd play the game my way and I started a bail bond service. It picked up nicely…this is one of my first 'business' trips where I didn't have a mark to follow…Gives me time to check out the windy city for myself…Say, if you're going to point that thing at me, you might as well give me a name so I know who's going to do me in.

"Her name is May Hopkins," A voice called out from the office behind May. The door creaked open a bit more, and beyond the frame stood a dusky woman with dark blue eyes and raven hair set in a professional style.

"It's okay May. He's cool." May lowered the pistol into her lap, and removed her hands from the weapon to turn her wheelchair around to enter the office. "C'mon." She said, her tone changing from serious to hospitable.

As Jorge entered the office, he closed the door behind him, and after being motioned by Rally, sat down across from the two. Rally took a moment to sit and finally acknowledge Jorge.

"You asked for my name back at Belmont Harbor- It's Rally. Rally Vincent." She spoke with conviction and clarity that Jorge had only known in a few instances before this meeting. She extended her slender hand, which seemed dwarfed by Jorge's mitt, grasping the cool skin and gripping it, the handshake now sealed.

-"Cold hands, Warm heart…At least, that's what my mother always said." Jorge commented, releasing the hand of Rally. She shrugged in response as she then reached beside her desk and revealed a small manila envelope. Opening the top, she dumped the photographs out on the table. Many of these photos Jorge had seen before, back at the ATF Office.

-"I've got a copy of them, myself…" Jorge said, reaching into his cargo pocket and pulling out identical prints. Jorge gave a contemplative 'Hmm' as he studied the photographs. "You must have someone who's willing to feed you information. Spooner?"

Rally shook her head and gave a glance to Jorge's expression, which she met with a smirk.

"No. We have our own source. One that doesn't deal with government gumshoes that have a problem with poking their nose in things they shouldn't. Bottom line is, I'm hunting the same marks you are, and technically, that makes us competitors…but there's a problem. The gangs we're fighting, they're all connected to one group- The Chicago Outfit. All this talk of gang war, are just proxies by street gangs with loose affiliation. There's no gang war, it's a sophisticated operation being run by three criminal organizations, with the Outfit at the head."

-"Can't just cut the head off the viper when there are dozens of heads…I see your point. This is going to take more than just a single hunter to take down all these idiots. What do we do?"

Rally thought for a moment and sighed, giving a helpless shrug.

"Hard to say. I haven't been in the business for over 8 years…The Police force is doing nothing to really stem the flow, the ATF's been hammering this case just as long as I've been 'retired', and so far, nothing's changing. If we do something, We'd make an impact without worrying too much about the law." She said, her eyes now closed in contemplation.

-"You haven't been in work since '08? Why? What happened?" Jorge asked. Rally's expression turned very dark as she stared hard at a shell casing sitting at the edge of the table between the two parties.

"…Let's just say times changed, people changed…A lot of things moved quickly. Friends and associates went off to greener pastures. I got injured. May here…carved her own path, got in an 'accident' and got the short end of a stick that was shaved down to begin with."

Jorge was silent for a moment, thinking quietly. "...I came across this," He said, reaching into a pistol mag pouch and fetching a lump of the paste he had taken back at the dock, rolling it across the table to Rally. "Taste it."

Rally gingerly lifted the semi-solid form with her dark, slender fingers to her nostrils and gave it a whiff, just as Jorge had done, before turning her head away suddenly. "Natives call it 'Pasta'. Cocaine Paste. Usually the Coke I've handled is already processed, but this is unprocessed…You don't think…" Rally thought quietly, leading Jorge on in making a connection.

-"Only thing I'm thinking is there's an abandoned factory that processes this stuff…and I'm contemplating hitting that place tonight before the ATF stumbles its way to the factory's doorstep with ample time for the people inside to dispose of evidence."

"We may just have to depend on them to get us a location. You should get in contact with your handler and see if you can't get some information…" Rally stopped speaking for only a moment, as she stood up and walked around the table, resting a hand on Jorge's shoulder. Jorge could only look up at the woman from his seated position with an inquisitive glance.

"I'll do my own digging, and we'll figure out where they're processing the powder…And don't worry about the ATF. They mean well, just…They're obnoxious, like most government agencies…For now though, you should get back to your hotel room-"

-"I don't have a…hotel room. Didn't get that far," Jorge admitted, his expression somewhat embarrassed by doing so. "Been too busy today to even get around to doing so."

Rally pursed her lips at that moment, curious, before looking towards May. "What do you think, Minnie May…Can we trust him to stay downstairs in the guest room?"

-"Oh No, if that's too much trouble I'll just be going…"

-"Sit down." Rally said, her hand pressing Jorge back into his seat. As feminine as she looked, she was stronger than she let on. Jorge gave a surprised expression, before May chimed in quietly.

"…Yeah. He's okay by me, I'd doubt he'd do anything dumb down there." May rubbed her chin at the thought, before checking her watch. "Besides, if he left now, he won't get back to Downtown for at least an hour. It'd be easier if he crashed in the guest room. He's got his own bathroom, too, so no need to worry about this soldier boy being a peeping Tom…"

"All right, then," Rally said, convinced. She gave Jorge a knowing look with a reassuring smile. "You're sleeping here tonight. No funny business." The male bounty hunter was now out of his seat, stepping back towards the doorway. He felt something was a tad off about these two women.

-"Ladies, please…I really don't want to impose," Jorge said, feeling uncomfortable all of a sudden. "If this is an inconvenience, all you have to do is say so, and I'll be gone."

"Nonsense…We don't get guests very often," May said with a warm smile. "It's hard to earn our trust, but you've been honest with us since you stepped foot in here, and in our book, that makes you trusted company." She tried her best to explain the reasoning behind the sudden friendly nature, given the circumstances that May almost blew Jorge's head off.

As Jorge finally settled down for the night, he held his work phone in his hand, scanning through the numbers, before he found Agent Spooner's contact number. Pressing the Autodial button, he placed the receiver to his ear and waited.

"This better be good," Agent Spooner muttered, the sound of sheets folding against her head was heard through the phone. "Otherwise, we're going to have problems."

-"Spooner, its Jorge. Do you happen to know if we have agents posted out at any abandoned factories in the city? That Paste we found earlier needs to be refined, right? Maybe they're using the factory as a front or it's under renovation or something…"

Agent Spooner moaned softly through the phone for a moment, before she took a deep breath. "…If we do, I can pull it up in the morning. Was that it?"

-"Depends. Sleeping well?"

"Fuck you, Jorge." With that, Spooner killed the line. Jorge couldn't help but smile, before turning the light out in his room and walking over to the cool sheets that lay before him in his guest bed. Amidst the darkness, Jorge could make out streaks of moonlight through the window. He focused on those lights as he slowly passed out. 

His mind swam to the darkest corners of his mind. Every moment he spent outside the wire in his career relived itself in his mind as he quietly turned in his sleep. From the outside of his room, Rally opened the bedroom door to peek inside to view the ex-soldier sleeping terribly on the mattress. Her expression was solid. Minnie May crept up right behind her as they entered the room.

With a syringe of fluid in her hand, Rally quietly reached over and with a gentle prick, inserted the needle into Jorge's arm, his thrashing relaxing a bit as he fell into a semi-lucid state. From here, she reached over to the study desk across the room and pulled the chair out from under the table, setting it down by his bedside. She now drew her CZ-75 from its holster and took the safety off.

"What's your name?" She asked aloud. Jorge, in this state, was capable of answering questions, though Rally would have to sift through the gibberish he was dreaming about.

-"Staff Sergeant Jorge Quincy Amos. Serial number 242913936."

"What are you doing in Rally Vincent's House?"

-"Get that 240 behind the berm…Gotta check this place out, heard stories, needed to be sure."

"Do you plan on killing or stealing?"

-"Negative. No casualties expected, Sir. HUMINT acquisition, Sir."

"What is HUMINT?"

-"Human Intelligence. Asking questions, getting answers, establishing contact and cooperation with Foreign Nationals, Sir."

Rally was impressed. He really meant what he had said. "Well, there goes our plan, May. The man is who he says he is, and he's really here for information…I hate having to drug him like this, but we had to make sure, right? No loose ends, if he wasn't being honest…" She rationalized with her partner as she holstered her pistol. May gave a distracted grunt, she was too busy lingering her eyes on his bare chest as it rose and fell as he slept. From the light, the two bounty hunters noticed the large scars across his chest, twisted and knotted in differing angles and directions.

"How did you get those scars, Jorge?" May quipped. Before Rally could shush her, Jorge responded with a flat answer.

-"War."

"What did you do in the war, Jorge…?"

-"Clear city hostiles, establish positive relations, support the public. Came under fire, Gaines hit, Me, Toye, Velez, Ishmael got hit; shrapnel. Bomb. Velez had hole, no smile, no eyes, just hole."

There was a moment of silence, before the incapacitated Jorge continued.

"Lost myself. Where am I. Take a left. Bad guys. Kill 'em. Kill 'em dead-good. Nice house. Gonna bleed out. I can't go like this. Save me God…Kill more. Save me God. Mama."

From the bedside, Rally could see a glint of fluid flowing down the corner of Jorge's eyes. Was he crying? She wouldn't listen to any more of this, and quietly led May out of his room, before she walked out and closed the door behind her. Her expression was dark and the look of anger set evenly on her face as she looked at May, who seemed beside herself.

"Why would you do that? He's reliving his past now; you probably just gave that poor guy a flashback!"

-"I only wanted to know where he got those scars from, I didn't mean for him to go into detail-"

"You think it's that easy for someone to forget their past? You, of all people should know better than that! Remember what Goldie did to you?! She made you like this. She did that to you because you remembered."

-"I know it's not easy, Okay?! I didn't mean for him to slip into a bad memory! I'm sorry!" May herself was at the point of tears. She honestly didn't mean to slip like that, she knew better, but her curiosity got the better of her. Rally shook her head at the apology and turned her shoulder away, focusing back at the doorway they had just left.

"Oh no, I'm not the one that you need to apologize to, you need to go back in there and apologize to him. He's the one that has to live with those scars, just like you have to live with your body the way it is now." May's eyes furrowed with anger then as she gripped the wheels to her chair tight, her knuckles turning white as she tried her best to restrain her anger as she spoke.

-"Well, what the hell do I tell him? 'Sorry Jorge, I didn't mean to make you relive that horrible memory; frankly, Rally should apologize because she drugged you to make you speak!'"

There was a brief moment of silence as the two of them came to the realization. They were both guilty of mistreating this man. Rally sighed, pinched the bridge of her nose between her eyes, wiping away _something_ from her eyes, and took a deep breath.

"Okay…So we say nothing. Just…pretend that didn't happen. We didn't go in there and drug him. We didn't question his loyalty and honesty while he was incapacitated, and we didn't hear anything about his service. That work for you?" May gave a moment to let the information process in her mind, before she gave a somewhat reluctant nod.

-"Yeah…So, he'll wake up, right?"

"Yeah, I didn't give him much. He'll wake up feeling really good in the morning, I think." 

"Jesus Christ, My fucking head!" Jorge groaned as he hunched over the sink, washing his mouth out with water. He had just finished vomiting, as he rested his elbows on the sides of the sink, giving out a drawn-out groan. The pain was tight at the base of his neck, and it coiled up his neck, all the way up to his temples, the pressure increasing with each pump of his heart. He stood in front of the mirror on his doorway; His webbing rested along his waist, as he adjusted the Kevlar vest that was underneath his black BDUs.

After a moment, he finally made his way out into the office. Finding the table, he quietly sat down and hunched over the particleboard, resting his head on the cool surface and finding some respite. Rally, who was busy packing a duffle bag with ammunition, saw this and sighed, reaching behind her to the office cooler to pull out a baggie with Ice cubes in it, tossing it on the table where Jorge's head resided for the moment. The frozen water clattered across the desk from within the baggie, spooking Jorge awake.

-"Sorry," Rally said, half-sincere. "Didn't think about it."

"That's fine…just…loud. Must've been sleeping wrong to get this headache…Damn." Jorge took the ice pack and pressed it against the nape of his neck where his two major arteries resided within his throat. Holding it there for a few moments made the pressure subside, at least enough to let Jorge think clearly.

"Spooner's got a few undercover cars scouting abandoned factories across the city. We'll find it soon enough…" He groaned as he looked over to Rally, who was busy looking at something on a map of the city.

-"It'd make sense to put the operation in a factory that nobody's going to want to buy, or is too expensive to demo anytime soon…And I have a few ideas…" With her expression deep in thought, Jorge couldn't help but watch her think. It was cute, to say the least. His headache reminded him to focus on the task at hand, however. He took a moment to clear his thoughts, before reaching for his phone again. He was about to unlock it, when it buzzed and vibrated angrily at him. Answering it, he turned half way in his chair, glancing at the map now himself.

"Amos Bail bonds," He answered. It was Agent Spooner. Her voice sounded panicked and hushed.

-"White Stokes Company. They're all over the place, I think they saw me. Gotta go." Jorge didn't get a word in edgewise, and perhaps that was for the better. He grew worried for a moment, before standing up and buttoning up the last few buttons on his shirt.

"Where is White Stokes, Rally?" He asked with conviction. Rally, who was busy prying deeper into a thought, stopped, glanced at Jorge's weathered face, before snapping to with the answer, her mocha finger resting gingerly near the Lincolnwood area on the map.

-"It's here. Been abandoned for some time. Why?" Jorge nodded and started heading out the door to his truck outside, before Rally could say anything edgewise.

"Thanks for the bed, gotta go," Was all he said. Rally chased after him, until she realized what he was doing. She muttered a curse and quickly turned back inside to gather her equipment.

-"Wait…! Shit…May! May, we gotta go now! Get the van." Rally shouted as she quickly ran back upstairs to gather some things. May's voice could be heard in the distance as she wheeled off to the garage behind the storefront.

The GPS had done its job in leading Jorge where he needed to go. He figured he'd just take the expressway and come out just a few blocks from where the factory was.

"Really didn't take long for Spooner to figure out the location, did it…" He wondered, his foot still on the gas pedal of the rental truck he was still driving. He noticed after a while that the traffic was extremely lax. With only another 5 minutes to go, He noticed a large van to his front slowing down in his lane. Looking for a lane to pass through, he bounced left and swung around the van to get in front, where two large semi-trucks were vying for control of the left lane. As soon as Jorge made his way between the trucks, they stopped shifting lanes and sat on either side of Jorge's truck. The van behind him now cut through all the lanes of traffic to use the carpool lane for a moment, before cutting back out in front of Jorge, between the trucks as well.

"Shit."

Jorge looked for an exit off the expressway, and quickly took it, skating down the off ramp to cut through a red light on the intersection. Jorge could now see in his rearview mirror, there were other vehicles following him; this was more than a localized event. The entire area had mooks driving around looking for suspicious characters- like Jorge.

The bounty hunter made his way to the factory's compound, his foot now flat against the floor of the truck as he broke 90, the speedometer's needle dancing around 120-125 as he released his foot off the gas to apply the brake as he tried to speed away from his pursuers. His efforts were in vain; as soon as he crossed past the defunct checkpoint to allow vehicles in, his tires knocked against the speed bump hard enough that he could feel the tires in the front of his vehicle give way and explode.

The truck swerved back and forth, before finally flipping over end over end, coming to a sliding stop against a light pole, snapping it in two and having it fall down atop the vehicle. Jorge was still conscious, and able to move. Suspended upside down in the carriage of the truck, Jorge quickly turned the vehicle off, undid his seatbelt, and fished around the roof of the vehicle for a weapon, any weapon. He could hear the vehicles behind him coming to stop just yards away, and this worried Jorge.

His head felt wet as he reached for the M1911 strapped against the side of his seat still, a few magazines resting beside the pouch in magazine pockets. Loading the weapon, he pulled the slide back and locked it in place, his left hand panicky as it slammed the first magazine home, before tripping the slide lock, loading the first round in the magazine into the weapon. He then took the safety off and watched outside. He could see feet approaching the vehicle slowly, followed by the faint sounds of weapons being cocked.

"Idi Nalevo, davay." A voice shouted, as another pair of feet quickly circled around the left of the vehicle. The feet stopped less than 10 yards away. A single voice from among the muttering became audible now. The voice sounded raspy, as if the man had been snorting too many kilos of cocaine over the course of his life.

"Put your weapon down, yes? We talk." The man spoke in broken English. Jorge didn't want to risk it. He'd rather die from his own mistake than die helpless. He shoved the pistol into his waistband, pulled his shirt over the pants, and tried his best to look disoriented, as he extended his hands out of the vehicle. A pair of hands reached over and with the strength of a beast, threw Jorge across the dusty parking lot against the hot asphalt. Jorge could count four men, loaded with AKs and submachine guns of various origin. The man spoke again to one of his lackeys.

"Ne strelyayte yego yeshche," He said, putting his arm up to one of his men who still had his rifle pointed at Jorge. With the weapons now relaxed, Jorge now considered his next move, as the ringleader of the group picked Jorge up and onto his feet. The blood on his head now poured down his face and onto his pressed white shirt, as he stared at the man's eyes.

"You come to find drugs, yes?" The man asked in broad daylight. Jorge gave a weak nod. His head wasn't feeling right at the moment.

"You cop?" Jorge shook his head with just as weak a conviction as he felt from the pain. The man turned to face his friends, muttered something in Russian, which brought humor to the other men's faces. Jorge now hunched over, his ears starting to ring suddenly, his vision blurring somewhat as he began to throw up onto the asphalt before him. This only caused more jeering from the small group of armed men.

-"No…Not a cop." Jorge said plainly, as he sized up the other four men while the first one started to pat him down.

"Why you here, then? You find drug, you take? You kill to have drug?" The man sounded a bit aggravated at Jorge's presence. Jorge cleared his throat before he hunched over again, feigning another vomiting spell, as he bought time.

-"To see a lady," He said, his body turned somewhat to the left to hide his right hand that now groped underneath the shirt to grab the pistol. The Russian ringleader gave a yellow-toothed grin, before standing Jorge upright once more.

Nobody noticed the pistol until the first round made a cantaloupe of the man beside Jorge. From there, fear and reactionary discipline kicked in. Jorge kneeled down and scooped up the now dead man's rifle, before running behind the flipped truck just as the other mooks readied their arms and started squeezing off rounds at the frame of the truck that Jorge took cover from.

With 7.62 rounds now having a distinct possibility of hitting Jorge in the face, the bounty hunter avoided exposing himself when possible, taking care only to fire if he could get away with aiming. He returned fire a few times, pegging two men in the process; his chances of survival increased if he continued to exercise caution in the face of automatic fire.

His back pressed against the turned over bed of the pickup truck, he took a second to glance up at the exhaust stacks at the top of the building. From his perspective, he could see the glint of a scope. He didn't put too much thought into it for now- there were still two more guys on ground level with him who were busy emptying their magazines into the body of the truck.

"I gotta get out of the open…" He leaned out of his position and with the last few rounds of his 1911, and double-tapped his last four rounds into both men, his aim measured and quick. Both men fell over, writhing in pain as Jorge now switched his orientation to face the exhaust stacks as the man atop of the tower started to take potshots at Jorge down below. Each round cracked across the open air like lightning as the gunshot echoed through the town.

Amos had taken a few moments to check his ammunition while he was in cover. One mag of .45 left, and the AKs he procured from his assailants. He would've used his AR, but he came to the realization that he left the weapon back at Gunsmith Cats. He face palmed amidst the gunfire, which was joined by the rest of the crew of Russians and Chinese hiding out in the factory; men shattered factory windows to get a clear shot at the intruder, plugging away at the frame of the overturned truck with automatic fire. Jorge tucked himself in closer to the ground as he loaded his newly-acquired AK.

The sound of an engine roar could be heard in the distance as Jorge emptied his first magazine amidst heavy fire. Behind him, a large white cargo van sped up, cut right behind him, with the cargo door now opening slowly, the vehicle slammed on the brakes and parked. From within the driver's side, Jorge could see Rally's figure rushing around the front of the vehicle, tossing the gun bag holding Jorge's AR.

"You forgot this," Rally shouted as she ran to the side cargo door, pulling it open to reveal Minnie May, still seated in her wheelchair, harnessed behind an M-134 Minigun, the large tri-barreled weapon spooled up and before Jorge knew it, the crown of fire that erupted from the weapon and the noise, like ripping paper. A tremendous percussive effect pounded the air around the trio, as tracers danced into the building, crumbling the brick framework of the factory.

After a few moments, the air grew silent. Jorge, now with his AR, took the lull in gunfire to bolt ahead towards the Factory entrance.

"Jorge! Get back here! Damnit! May, hold the fort, I'm going after him!" Rally shouted, as she picked up Jorge's dropped AK, and in her black flats and suit, ran off behind Jorge to the Factory.

Jorge didn't care about Rally at the moment, He was grateful, but his main focus was the burning question: "Gotta find Delia." He took position against the entryway of the factory, hearing screams in Russian and Chinese, followed by the cocking of weapons.

 _"_ _Same song and dance…these guys just don't know when to cut and run…"_ Jorge thought as he checked the magazine on his weapon. The tension danced up his spine and gravitated to his hands, gripping the weapon tightly from within his gloves. Taking the safety off, he peeked his head out, to be met with a wall of lead against the brick frame. Rally by this time had reached the opposite side of the frame, taking a few deep breaths to slow her breathing down.

"You need to stop running off like that, you're going to get shot like that one of these times." Rally commented, pulling the bolt back halfway to check if the magazine was feeding accordingly. Jorge's expression gave off a sense of frustration as he snapped back at the woman.

-"Why the hell do you care? Agent Spooner's probably in there. She called me talking about how she was found out, so now I'm wondering if she's alright…"

"…Were you two close?" Rally asked, her eyes inquisitive as she peeked out herself, and was met with the same wall of lead, forcing her head back.

-"Yeah. At one point." Jorge mentioned. "A long time ago."

"Then for your sake," Rally said, leaning her weapon past the threshold, she squeezed off a few rounds, drawing attention to herself. "Let's go get her."


	3. Tonight's Lineup

[9 Hours Prior]

[Gunsmith Cats Office]

Jorge had taken a moment to collect himself from their conversation. Being told to stay for the night wasn't his thing. However, he reckoned Rally wasn't quite done for the night.

The dusky female took the moment to return to the six photographs the two of them had. She then reached into her pocket and pulled out a large permanent marker, crossing out the familiar face of Sun Yang, the man Jorge caught back at the harbor earlier that day.

"You caught Sun Yang, and his bounty is sitting at two million dollars…however, there are 5 more faces you should learn to recognize if you want to cash in on their bounty…with our help, of course..." The enervated expression of Rally as she crossed out Sun Yang's picture gave substantiation to the claim she had been retired for some time.

-"So tell me, who am I looking at, then? Agent Kovic never got to this part, and I've been waiting to see who these people are," Jorge queried, his hazel eyes scanning across the features of the faces on the picture.

Rally took a finger and pointed at the face next to Sun Yang's crossed out picture. An older man with grey hair. He was dressed in a suit and tie, speaking with other unidentified individuals. His nose hooked towards his shallow mouth, while his brown eyes seemed to be teeming with paranoia.

"This is Izak Pisk, with the grey hair and wary look. Leader of the Russian Bratva in the area. Released from A.D.X. Florence: the Alcatraz of the Rockies. Got busted back in 1990. Didn't stop him from building the largest Slavic drug empire in the western hemisphere. He's moved on from simple drug peddling. He plays the Illegal weapons and Human trafficking field, too…Which nets him a profit of fifteen million dollars, according to Interpol."

Rally moved her finger from Izak to a much younger woman, dressed in a euro biker outfit, busy smoking a cigarette and speaking on the phone. Her raven hair and green eyes pierced an object off camera, as if she condemned whatever resided beyond the frame of the picture with disdain, her tiny nose crinkled in disgust.

"This is Izak's Lieutenant. Molly Grant. 24 year old from Maine- busted selling hot cars on the internet, did time from 2008 until 2014. Got out on good behavior. She's not dangerous, but she's got connections. If we want to get an edge up on the illegal trade, she's the key master. Her bounty's listed at nine million."

-"They get younger and younger," Jorge quipped, before Rally gave a knowing smirk, her voice caught by curiosity and excitement as she continued.

"Ain't seen nothing yet. Look at this kid. Nineteen year-old from Chicago. Punk rocker. Goes by the name of 'Sam Lei'. Salakau enforcer, and runs a biker gang called the 'Black Bulls'. Stints in Juvie, assault, battery, robbery. Along the way he learned how to wire explosives, with remarkable quality and ingenuity. Revolving door of crime. Keep an eye on him. We catch him alive, he's worth four million."

Jorge took note, and on his own copies of photographs, and had written their names down on the back of the pictures as she called them off. She then took a moment to show another face. This time, the figure seemed androgynous, though highly effeminate, as the earrings and lipstick punctuated the redhead's features as she stood frozen in time, lighting a cigarette.

"Samantha Wu. Released from Rikers in 2013. Under treatment for Schizophrenia. Got arrested for killing a cop on a street corner in Richmond, Virginia. Loyalty to the dollar and the voices are the only things keeping Sam in check and in employment with Salakau. Bagging Wu gets us four million…Speaking of employers…"

Rally now pointed at the last picture. The man looked like Sun Yang, but older and more defined features rounded out his face as he stood in a well-tailored and pressed suit. He was posing for a camera, with a large smile on his face, his Chinese heritage only obvious by the dragon lapel pin sitting on his left collar.

"Khan Yang. Leader of the Chicago Salakau, Operations Officer to the Midwestern Triad. He's been in Chicago since 1990, but back then, he was small-time; didn't cause waves. I should've known better. He's one of the most influential people in Chicago now, and everyone who's anyone has had the unfortunate experience to cross paths with the 'Green Dragon' at any point in their lives. He's a killer. Pimp, Drug dealer, Scrap boss. He runs the shipping and distribution in the Midwest. Taking him down alive nets us twelve million, easy."

-"Well then," Jorge said, smiling at the idea of a good payout. Any convictions he had about his family at any given point earlier in the day were shrouded by reeling in a good amount of cash to set him and his family straight for the rest of their lives, if they used it wisely. "We should contemplate how we're going to make a living for ourselves after retiring rich and no worse for wear."

"We can start by checking our ego at the door, mister. Molly Grant is going to be more than willing to cut us a deal if we can nab her."

-"How the hell do you know she'd be willing?" Jorge interrogated. Rally took a moment to give Jorge a warm smile, before answering with the confidence of a salesperson.

"Because. She's not a violent felon. She's a car thief. The girl's going to come to her senses when she has the weight of reality shoved into her hands. Besides…I need a new information broker…The last one I had dropped off the face of the world, and I can't trust just anybody with the type of information requests I need. So if we nab her, that nine million goes to her as a way of opening a line of communication with her and the underground."

-"You're kidding. Who's going to nab her? Me? You? Maybe you, but come on, look at me. I'm Six-foot two, two-hundred twenty five pounds of stupid dressed in a black set of BDUs and combat boots. I'm gonna stick out like a sore thumb." Jorge explained this with his hands animating and arguing his point. May, who had taken the liberty of watching the two, couldn't help but chime in.

"Yeah, I believe the two-hundred twenty five pounds of stupid. How long have you been bounty hunting? Don't you know connections are the lifeblood of this enterprise? You gotta spend money to make money in this business." May had rolled the wheelchair up to Jorge, her dainty left hand now gently prodding him in the chest. That finger lingered there for a moment as she finished her sentence, her eyes looking at Jorge's eyes with a flirtatious tone, before breaking contact with his gaze to snap a glance at where her finger lay. Just as quickly as she did this, she pulled her hand back and adjusted herself in her chair.

Jorge paid no mind, as he quietly glanced down to the floor, his bottom lip curled into his mouth and pressed down by his teeth as he thought. His hand rested on the arm of the chair he sat in, a stray buckle from his webbing caught the attention of his thumb and forefinger as he felt the fabric weave between his fingers.

-"I've never had to deal with others when it came to solidifying my reputation as a hunter. If you knew what I did on a consistent basis in Colorado, you'd be aware of my tendencies and business habits…That being said, your lack of information on my identity and job history only adds conviction to the belief that you do, indeed, need a new 'nose'. So perhaps Molly might be the kind of gal you're looking for…"

It was as if Jorge was in control of the situation, even though there was no pole position or upper hand to maintain. To the ire of Rally, Jorge now was in a position to ask a question; it wasn't that she didn't consider Jorge competent, but she did consider him an unknown. That in its own right, in her mind, was dangerous.

Jorge leaned back in his chair, now pocketing the photographs he had of his targets. "Anyway, now that we know who we're up against, what are we looking at in terms of professional gunmen?"

Rally brought her hand to her chin, her eyes staring wistfully to the ceiling, as if trying to pull an answer from a long friend from thin air.

"I don't know."

-"That's a first, I bet," Jorge ribbed. May, who was still sitting beside Jorge, had turned that dainty hand into a backhand across the large man's chest.

"Fuck off. You got a better answer?" May inquired. Jorge did the same action as Rally, mocking her, it seemed.

-"Nope."

Rally gave a choleric glare at the two idiots in front of her. With a frustrated tone of voice, she shouted.

"Moving on!" She paused for a moment to clear her throat, as she contemplated the next order of business. "So, Jorge. I suppose I should show you where you're sleeping…"

[Current Hour]

Jorge stared with a sanguine appreciation for Rally's assistance for a second time. He noticed her fiddling with an earpiece, before he noticed her reaching for something in her pocket, before tossing it over to Jorge.

"Put it on," She suggested. Jorge followed the sound advice and put his earpiece in. Turning it on, he could hear May's voice speaking to Rally in an alluring tone. "Oh Rally; I can't believe you let me play with your 'big' toy. What else are you going to let me do with it?" Jorge's expression turned from a furtive scowl, to a coy grin.

-"Sounds like the two of you do more than just live together." He stabbed. Rally's face turned an immediate beet red, creating a glow in her bronzed cheeks as she gave a glowering response both to Jorge and May on the radio.

"Just focus on the task at hand; Jorge, same plan as the Harbor. Cover me; I'll open a gap for you. Ok?"

-"Yeah, okay." Minnie May's voice came over the radio again, her voice a sing-song as she beckoned a question be answered by Rally."

"And what about me?" She asked. "What am I to do with this _BIG_ gun…?"

"Just keep us covered as we enter the factory. If it shoots at you, shoot back. Okay? We're looking for an ATF Agent, so try and keep the stray fire to a minimum." With that, Rally now looked to Jorge to give the go ahead.

Jorge double-checked the magazine in his AR now, the third time now. This made him nervous, more nervous than he had ever felt in his life- even combat in a warzone had no comparison to the feelings he had swimming in his gut. He closed his eyes, took a long deep breath, then took the safety off his weapon, and leaned out of cover.

"GO!" He bellowed. The scream drew out a handful of Salakau and Bratva mooks brandishing assault rifles and SMGs to pop out from their cover from the ground and second floor, spraying the entryway. Jorge didn't budge, and instead began to fire well-aimed shots at every target of opportunity he could find. Though he stood like a rock, he felt the impact of a few rounds against his combat vest. This finally forced him back behind his cover to check the vest and to see if he had actually been hit.

In the meantime, Rally took the liberty of quickly slinking her way amidst the chaos behind a few conveyors to find a flank on a few of the gangsters on the ground level. With her commandeered AK, she quickly took aim and took a few shots at the men, aiming for disabling shots; shooting kneecaps and shoulders quickly removed any threats posing a problem for her partner, Jorge. The dark-haired bounty hunter then finally reached the opposite side of the room, waiting at the doorway for Jorge to meet up with her.

"Come on! It's clear!" Her voice rang out as each word seemed punctuated with gunfire as Jorge did as he was told, rushing up between factory machines and vaulting over a large brushed steel counter to reach the opposite side of the doorway. From where he stood, he could see a stairwell leading upstairs, as well as a catwalk from which the foreman could look down. He could see a few stray motions and sounds of weapons being shifted and brought into action as he reloaded his magazine.

"Up or down?" Rally asked, as she glanced from her edge of the wall into the next room. Jorge made a motion to Rally as he tripped the bolt catch and sent a fresh round home.

-"Don't worry about it. Just focus on the left side, I'll hit the right. Split this room down the middle, we'll cover more ground, but we gotta do it together, ok?" Rally looked at him, a bit unsure. With closed lips, she gave a shaky nod, before she readied herself. Jorge then motioned with the nod of his head, and the pair entered the room, guns blazing.

The speed and force at which both entered and engaged the room left the thugs on the other side dumbfounded and in disarray as they cleaned the room, moving fluidly up the stairs to the next floor. They were met at the doorway by an even larger group of hostiles, who did not give the pair the common courtesy of allowing them to enter, as they started to spray the brick doorframe and the wall beyond with high-powered automatic fire.

Rally shouted into her small headset as she gripped onto the railing just feet below the rounds snapping and whizzing above her and Jorge's head.

"May! Second Floor! Hose it down!" Rally grimaced as shards of brick and mortar struck across her face, cutting across her skin as she covered her face with her jacket.

The medley of staccato upstairs was suddenly overpowered by the burping of the minigun tearing through the large glass panes that sat on either side of the floor and connecting with soft tissue beyond. Cries of pain and fear in multiple languages added to the cacophony of insanity that culminated with the cries of excitement elicited from May's birdsong voice as she cleared the second floor, as bad guys took the fire exit ladder downstairs, in an attempt to get away from the overwhelming firepower presented by the tiny woman.

"Whoo! Get some, You fuckin' losers!" She cried out, her elation felt contagious, as Jorge and Rally caught themselves smiling as they waited for an all clear. Bursts of the minigun punctuated the last few moments of the gunfight as shards of loose-hanging material fell to the ground like snowflakes.

"We're clear! I don't see anything upstairs, either," May said on her radio. Rally and Jorge acknowledged her report and moved upstairs, coming across the carnage of the dead and dying being literally torn apart by the awesome power of the minigun, the dusty floor of the factory being coated in an thin sheen of room-temp crimson and bits of flesh and body strewn about.

"Jesus Christ, May! What did you do?!" Rally said in total shock as the soles of her black flats were almost awash with blood as she stepped over bodies to get to the stairwell that led to the roof. Jorge himself walked casually across the room, coming across a mortally wounded thug, his still attached hand trying to scoop his intestines back into his ripped open stomach, with no success. The bounty hunter didn't spare any sympathy for him as he stepped over him, and in doing so, squeezed off a round into the gunman's head, ending his suffering.

"Jorge! What the fuck is wrong with you?!" She snapped, her eyes brimming with anger at the man's actions. Jorge shrugged and picked through the bodies of the dead, finding an intact pack of cigarettes and magazines for his weapons. Though some of them covered in blood, Jorge pocketed them anyway into his webbing.

-"Nothing. What's wrong with you? Afraid to kill someone" He shot back, his entire demeanor now morphed into something dark and brooding; Memories of his part in the Middle East came rushing back to him as he stood there amidst the garden of death he had just taken part in

.

"Scared to admit that deep down, there's something about this that becomes almost…Poetic?"

-"What're you talking about? You just killed a man too wounded to fight!" Jorge shook his head in disgust at her words, his hazel eyes now focused on the slender figure of Rally.

"No. He lost his chance at mercy. You going to tell me I'm wrong to feel that way, after all the men we've already shot? Death is part of our business, now. It will always be an integral aspect of this job, whether you're ready to accept that or not."

Rally looked at Jorge with disgust as he said this. He was right. For so long, she had denied that fact to weigh on her "Morally Straight" view to her job. Jorge had told her in 5 seconds what she had feared to hear in all her years in the business.

Death was part of the job. She hated that he was right. She abhorred the fact that her violence could have contributed to the death of someone. It _had_. She had forgotten completely about her exploits in years past, Radinov coming to mind. But in that instance, she put seven rounds into that woman's chest while she held an axe above her head, poised to drop it on her. Even now, she remembered every recoil she felt that day. Each round punctuated her thoughts, and she remembered what she thought as she pumped those seven rounds into Radinov's bosom.

 _. .Like. ._

"I will not die like a dog…" She said softly to herself. She found herself on the verge of tears from the emotional impact of the event. Suddenly, she felt something for Jorge. Compassion. She stared at him from his position, looking across the dead bodies and getting his hands dirty with blood. This was him in his natural, learned element. He learned how to live like that after months. It was how he survived and rationalized his situations.

"You…" She snapped, her emotional swing now focused on the humiliation she felt from his revelation. "You…Jackass!" She said it weakly as she pooled her emotions within herself to focus. After a deep breath, she steeled herself.

-"You done?" Jorge droned, frustration souring his expression as he walked onwards upstairs. Rally followed him as they emerged on the rooftop.

Deliah was there. Her figure seated in a wooden chair, her back away from the pair. As they approached, Jorge stopped in his tracks. There was a large bulge under the seat of the chair, and wires vined across the body of the ATF agent as Jorge now walked around the chair to see Deliah alive, her mouth taped up.

"Check the roof, Rally." She did as was instructed and made sure they were not falling into a trap, as Jorge ripped the tape off Deliah's mouth.

-"Bomb, under the chair."

"I know," Jorge commented, his frame now bending over to get a better look at the device as Agent Spooner tried to undo herself from the bindings. "Don't move! Let me get a look at this thing first."

As Jorge rested onto his back, he could see the wires plunged into the repurposed set of sprinkler tubes and pocket watch recycled to be a timer. The face stopped at twelve, but he knew that could change. Upon further inspection, he was right.

"Deliah. You have a pressure-plate device supplemented by a traditional timed explosive. If you so much as itch your ass, the plate drops and starts the timer. I cut the wires, the pressure plate becomes the primary, and triggers if you decide to squeak a fart out…I just want to let you know that I'm going to try and get you out of here, but I can't say that with certainty. The timer is off right now, and I won't find out how much time we have until we drop the trigger."

-"Jorge." Deliah cooed. Jorge stretched his head out to look up at his old friend. She gave him a knowing smile, before standing up with the chair still attached. The plate dropped, and the watch timer wound itself to 2 minutes. Jorge stood up quickly to cut Spooner's restraints off with his bayonet, before flipping the chair over.

"Rally! Take Spooner and get to the van!" Jorge shouted, as he inspected the bomb. Rally herself turned to face Jorge as he pried open the casing to the explosive.

-"Jorge, just leave it!" She shouted as she started to get pulled away by Deliah down the stairs. Jorge didn't want to leave the bomb. He felt obligated to try and defuse it; a stupid sense of completion begged him to finish it.

 _This fuckin' thing. Gonna die on top of a building, get my guts sponged up and sent home in a tin can._

Jorge thought as he inspected the wires. Ninety Seconds. Jorge quickly reached to the wire connected to the battery pack and followed it to the explosive charge. With the bladed edge of his bayonet, he pressed the cutting end against the grey wire connected to the battery. Sixty Seconds.

 _Okay, okay, okay…SHIT. Calm. Gotta do it. You gotta do it, Jorgie. DO IT. CUT THE DAMN WIRE!_

Jorge screamed at the top of his lungs as he cut the wire. Watching the timer stop ticking gave him peace of mind. Quickly, he stood up and ran down the stairs after Rally and Deliah, who were already nearly out of the building. Along the way, they walked across crates of unprocessed "Pasta", waiting to be dried out and shipped. A lucky streak for them, they surmised as they walked through the factory back outside.

As they reached the ground floor, the parking lot and the empty grass lot where Jorge crashed his truck, was surrounded by emergency vehicles. Police and ATF agents with their weapons drawn apprehended all three, while May was nowhere to be found. Rally, Deliah, and Jorge were then led into a paddy wagon as they were taken to the police station for questioning.

[CPD Grand Central District]

[4 hours later]

Sitting in a holding cell separate from the other prisoners, Jorge and Rally quietly watched as the bailiff quietly paced along the aisle between the holding cells.

"This sucks." Rally moaned as she buried her head deeper into her hands. "Where the hell is May?" Jorge took a moment to watch Rally's exasperation, before responding to her protest and subsequent question.

-"Donno, don't care. Deliah's working on getting us out, though. So we can hedge our bets we'll be gone by the end of the day." Rally looked up to gauge Jorge's expression, which brought her a bit of ire as she asked him a question.

"…What did you do in the Middle East? I mean, when you were in the Army?"

-"…Classified."

"Bullshit. You can't tell me what you did?"

-"Intelligence Support Activity. That's all I'm going to tell you."

"…The hell does that mean? Are you a spook or something?"

-" _Was_. I was a spook for the Army."

"…Shit, man. You weren't going to say anything about it, huh?"

-"Not important. My time in service to Uncle Sam is done, I'm living a life I find exciting."

Rally looked at Jorge with a sense of disbelief. Here was this man, sitting across from her in a cell who was essentially at one point, a shadow of the government. This brought new perspective to Jorge in multiple facets as she recalled everything she saw and did with him. His ability to hold his own in a firefight, no, controlling the outcome of the firefight before it started. Jorge was never in any real danger, she concluded, if he knew exactly how the mobsters would organize and react.

"If you're so…special, then why did you need my help?"

-"Simple. I'm not superhuman. I need information and people willing to risk their necks for reward."

"Are you just in it for the money then, Jorge?" Amos rose an eyebrow to Rally, knowing she was thrown for a loop when he admitted his case.

-"I'm in it to get rich, Rally. Simple enough. I've got too much bullshit going on in my life to be a spook at this time. Whatever life I led when I was in the Army is gone, now."

The holding cell door clattered open as the bailiff stood in the doorway.

"A Mister Kovic wants to see the two of you." Rally and Jorge then stood up and walked out together, the bailiff leading them to a closed off office within the processing center of the Police Department.


	4. In The Cold Light of Day

"You're fucking kidding me right now!" Kovic bellowed at the top of his lungs within the soundproofed office. He stood tall on his side of the table while Rally and Jorge sat there stone-faced.

"I give you a simple assignment, and I check in 24 hours later, and you've already gone off and blown an entire sting operation out of the water! That facility had Several Crates of unprocessed cocaine. We were expecting a shipment today. TODAY! God-damn it…" Kovic now pointed a sausage finger at Rally's exasperated form.

"And who the hell is this dame? She your partner, girlfriend or some shit?" Rally's face twisted into a shocked expression, her cheeks blushing suddenly at the thought.

-"No way, big guy. We're business partners."

"I couldn't care less. The fact of the matter is, the entire sting operation we had planned is kaput, and the two of you are liability…I don't know what I was thinking, letting a guy like you off the leash in a city like this. I was expecting…Miracles. Instead, I got handed a fax from the Pentagon, telling me to speak with you about I.S.A. The hell is that, even?"

Jorge cleared his throat, waited for the tension in the room to subside for a moment, then spoke, slowly and clearly.

-"When I was in the US Army, I was a member of the Intelligence Support Agency. Special Forces. HUMINT and SIGINT trafficking and I.D. I did a lot of bad things in Afghanistan, and that's all I want to tell you."

"Sorry, Jorge. I know all about Operation Faust." Kovic said matter-of-factly. Rally's head turned from Jorge to Kovic as the conversation continued, her eyes wide in surprise as she listened to the information passed along.

-"Fuck. Okay…Operation Faust. Me and another agent got shipped to Pakistan to monitor radio traffic and establish a HUMINT bank, what you'd call a 'spy ring'. Faust was successful, but my partner got made. We split, and I get back to OP Ghost. I never hear from Lieutenant Brushwood, we assume Brushwood is dead, so we proceed with the plan. Shit goes sideways. Pakistani government finds our leads, someone tells the Taliban and Al Qaida, we get caught with our pants down in a massive Al Qaida assault force trying to raid OP Ghost. I call in a C-130 on the OP, blow the place to kingdom come, kill friendlies and enemies, I haul my ass to the extraction. I'm the only one there..."

"…Jesus, Jorge. Brushwood, the fuck is that, some sorta code-name?" Kovic muttered, looking at the fax still in his hand.

-"Yeah. Brushwood was her code name."

-"Her? What the fuck else are you gonna tell us, Amos: That she's an assassin now?" Rally spat out as she glared at Jorge. Amos could only shrug and give a half-hearted sigh.

"Wouldn't be surprised. We left her with a real short stick amongst a metric fuck-ton of Ali-baba…but what does that have to do with the ATF and the trafficking issue here?"

-"Well…" Kovic muttered under his breath as he finished reading the fax. "She just arrived at O'Hare. Intel suggests she's gunning for you…That being said, we need you two to cool off the fireworks for now; Spooner's on assignment, but will keep you updated with information. You're free to go, pick your gear up in the armory office just outside of holding, to the left…"

He waved off the two, and as if in a dream, the cuffs on either bounty hunter's hands were loosed, allowing them free motion at the doorway. The two of them silently left the office, and upon receiving their equipment, made their way to the garage.

It was here that Rally rested a hand on Jorge's shoulder as she pulled him back a bit, motioning for him to stop walking. Jorge turned and gave an inquisitive look.

"What…" He muttered, fatigue now getting the better of him. Rally shrugged and dug for her cellphone in her off-hand as she held the duffle containing both of their equipment in her lead hand.

-"Gotta see if May's gonna pick up or if we're going to need a taxi. Besides that, I wanted to know, Brushwood? Is that her real name?" Jorge sighed and stretched in the cool air of the parking garage before deciding to answer her question.

"Brushwood only responded to that name…But I do remember a letter she got from home once, addressed to her, under the name "Francis." So that's gotta mean something, I suppose…besides that, No. Brushwood and I were not particularly on friendly terms to begin with, we just happened to work well together."

-"…and…?" Rally chided, a small smirk growing on her face. She could tell there was more to this story than Jorge led on, and she was right, as Jorge seemed uncomfortable to explain it.

"She may've been a husk, devoid of humanity, but she and I were partners, Like you and I are partners…Nothing ever came of it, ok? Drop the subject." Rally seemed surprised at this sudden attitude adjustment. Jorge, ever the cool-headed stalwart, had just snapped at her for prying, and though she knew she deserved it, the act seemed off-base, even for Jorge.

-"Sorry," She contemplated aloud. "I suppose I shouldn't pry anymore." Jorge took this apology, and though he accepted it, he said nothing, electing to walk out towards the street, while Rally tried to get ahold of May.

[Salakau Headquarters, Chicago]

Amidst the smoke-filled room, suit-clad figures seemed to sway to-and-fro between the wisps of cigarette mist, finding seats among the sea of grey and dim lamplight as the sun peered through the western window, its haunches resting easy along the windowsill, and the horizon. Cascades of color began to appear across the sky as a large pair of fingers reached across the expanse between the table and the window, and pulled a drawstring to bring the blinds down, obscuring the room in the sickly yellow light.

Pungent coughs from smoker's lungs and ice clinking against whiskey glasses, a single figure appeared to stand before the large group of men seated along a large table that stretched from the figure to the back off the room. Silence creeped over the men as they focused on their leader, whose face came into view as he puffed on his cigar, illuminating his face for a brief moment.

Khan Yang's voice resembled a grizzled, hard-taught executive who seemed on edge as of late. Each word he spoke laced with the anxiety of the past two days: First, his son's arrest, and earlier this day, he had learned of the shutting down of one of his refineries. He puffed on the cigar once more, before starting his speech.

"Gentlemen. I'm pleased to announce to you that our current exports are trading far higher than expected on the black market."

This was met with excitement. Applause filled the room as Khan attempted to continue.

"We will be receiving more weapons shipments in the next 4 days from our Canadian contingent. As for our distribution operation, our accountants tally the total number of sales for this quarter at around 90 Million Dollars."

Another round of applause. Khan smiled at the group's reaction, until he noticed one man sitting in the far corner had not applauded, or seemed very interested in the situation. Khan said nothing for a moment as he pointed open palm at the man.

"Do these figures not please you, Lei?" The table's occupants turned to face the man, who was busy cleaning his nails with the switchblade in his hand. Sam Lei shook his head as he closed the blade.

-"You failed to mention two things that I feel are necessary to continue this charade of a legitimate business platform, boss…One is that our receiving center in Belmont Harbor F is kaput. It goes for our White Stokes Refinery. Gone…We had 10 Million dollars in product in that refinery. Most likely burned." Khan seemed bothered by Sam Lei's lack of respect for him in this position, but that annoyed look softened as Yang senior spoke.

"I was getting to that point, Sam. It's why I brought you here. I want you to find the ones responsible and teach them a thing or two about respecting the freedoms of small businesses and small business owners such as myself…Hell, I even got a 'fixer' to deal with our issues. Go down to O'Hare and pickup alias Brushwood. She'll be at Gate J."

Sam took these instructions, and upon giving Khan the finger, walked out of the office, leaving the room full of smoke-covered associates along with boss Khan.

"Now then, with those unsightly updates out of the way, we have the means of pest control on our hands…I've already taken the liberty of sending for a 'fixer'. She should be arriving here in Chicago any moment now. On top of that, my Lieutenant, Sam, whom all of you just had the pleasure of meeting, is now working on our stop-loss program to correct any calculated faults in our inventory...With that being said, A toast, gentlemen. To progress."

[Gunsmith Cats Office, a few hours later]

Rally tossed the duffel bag onto the floor, as she threw herself onto the couch. May entered in just after that, her voice raised as she argued with Jorge, a conversation that had dragged on since they left the Police station garage.

"I was released at the site, I made my way back here, then Rally calls me about an hour ago, and I got stuck in traffic! This isn't intentional, Jorge! Just relax, ok?"

-"I'm just saying, You should've waited at the station for us."

-"Both of you, shut up!" Rally bellowed, sitting up on the couch. Jorge closed the door behind him and rested against the door frame, while Rally brushed a stray curl from her temple.

"The two of you have been at each other's throats for the past 2 days! Just stop! I'm tired of you two acting like children!"

Silence. Rally took off the tan jacket she had been wearing, revealing holes in her blouse, the vest underneath the fabric catching the stray rounds. Plucking them out with frustration, she exhaled softly.

"May. Head to the basement and check the Airport for recent arrivals. After that, Keep an ear on the wire for anything happening. Jorge and I need to talk."

May said nothing as she carted herself off to the elevator in the back of the room. Jorge unbuttoned the BDU shirt he was wearing, before reaching for the Duffle bag, walking to the desk in the center of the room, and resting the bag atop of it. From here, he opened the bag and retrieved his weapons, before rummaging in the bottom for a cleaning kit. He tossed the rifle on the table with frustration, before kicking the chair aside to open a space for him to sit. Silence remained as Rally walked to the fridge across the room, opened it and returned with two cans of beer, sliding one towards Jorge. She then took a seat opposite of him, and opened her can of beer.

"Spill everything you know about Brushwood."

-"I told you everything vital abou-"

"NOW!"

-"…Fine. Brushwood…is... _was_ , I suppose, a lover of mine. Not for long, but long enough that our emotional chemistry was toxic to the mission. I broke it off. Francine Otvotsk. Wanted to run away with me to Pakistan; abandon the mission, my freedom for love, I suppose. The only reason the Pakistanis found out about our mission was because _She_ told them, after I explained to her why we couldn't run away. She betrayed me. She betrayed the American government. But most of all, she betrayed my trust in her...I don't know if this is the same Brushwood I know, but as far as I am concerned. She's dead, and this person just took her name and likeness to fuck with me, on behalf of Khan Yang…"

"…And you're married now, Jorge?" Rally asked softly. Jorge, in the midst of cleaning the lower receiver of his weapon, gave a slight shake of the head.

-"Not anymore. Divorced. Wife has full custody of our son. Probably better that way, seeing as I'm nothing more than a tool for the government, even when I own my own business…Before this, I did Border Patrol duty as a contractor for the U.S…And you? What about you, Rally? What do you have left to fall back on when this is done? Nobody? May, perhaps?"

Rally coughed a bit on her drink as she leaned on the table, her eyes showing fatigue and the effects of alcohol on an empty stomach. Eyes half drawn in contemplation as she focused on something further away.

"Funny. You ask as if I know. I don't. May and I aren't as tight as we used to be. She's only here because she has nowhere else to go. I'm her halfway house, I suppose. But she and I are the only kin we got…As for marriage? I want to say I had someone in mind…but he's no longer with us anymore, and frankly, Up until now, I haven't given it much thought…"

Her eyes seemed to shimmer with frustration as she wiped something away.

"... _and that bothers the shit outta me_."

The second hand on Jorge's watch filled the air with subtle tempo as he worked on the bolt assembly, stopping for a moment to focus on Rally.

-"You could've passed on by that day at Belmont Harbor. But you didn't. Why?"

"Fate, I suppose," She said softly, taking another drink. "I don't even know why I said that. I don't believe in fate, but I just said it…This drink must be hitting me harder than I thought…Need something to eat with that…but…" She hesitated getting up to slowly walk over to the fridge. Empty, with the exception of the beer cans and a small stack of C4 resting in the back of the cooler.

"I got nothing to eat…Shame."

-"Call for delivery. I'll cover it. Whatever you want…" Jorge said contemplatively.

[O'Hare International Airport]

Sam Lei stood at the baggage claim area, his leather jacket glossing from the ambient light of the airport. His eyes caught a female figure, around his height, dressed in business attire, a small duffle dangling from her shoulder as she stopped in front of Sam. Sam, with his lack of character, packed a dip into his mouth before speaking to the woman in front of him.

"You Brushwood?" The female only smiled and walked past him, gripping a suitcase that had just entered the baggage claim. Walking back to the man, she shoved the suitcase against Sam's chest with the force of what felt like a MAC truck. The shock of this, coupled with the impact against Sam's diaphragm, caused him to suck in wind, and swallow his tobacco. Now, with a sick look on his face, his eyes looked over to the smiling woman still beside him.

-"What the hell do you think, punk?" Her voice, like velvet as she walked past him. "Show me to Khan."

Sam, still bewildered by the sudden turn of events, said nothing as he made his way to the parking garage where the rest of his gang were waiting.

Now, standing before the group of bikers, Brushwood revealed to the men the arsenal she wore beneath the sports coat. MP5K, two Micro 9mm Uzis, Sawed off Coach gun, short enough that her slender hands sat only centimeters from the business end of the weapon. The suitcase was still sealed, perhaps for the gang's own good, as she took the bike of one of Sam's Gang, shoving him off with little effort.

"Lead me," She ordered, her honey-colored eyes stabbing into Sam's back, as he did what was ordered. The man Brushwood had pushed off now took a seat just behind a fellow biker, riding bitch as they sped out of the parking garage, blasting past the toll booth.

Now, as the sun set on the 2nd day, a grey overcast could be seen to the North, crawling towards the windy city as darkness grasped its cool hand across the neon-hued city.


	5. The Shade Of A Burning Tree

Jorge quietly observed the spread across the table. Chinese, Italian, take out burgers and fries, a dozen cans of soda, all arranged neatly across the table in a buffet-style. His own plate of spaghetti seemed scarce, compared to the mountains of food May and Rally were enjoying.

Jorge picked at his food for a moment, before putting his fork down. May looked over from her plate, her mouth still full of the chicken parmesan she just shoveled in, and swallowed it, before speaking up.

"Something wrong there? You haven't even tried the food yet."

Jorge looked up from his plate to look at May and Rally just across from him. "…Thinking about sleep. Last night didn't seem to pan out like I had anticipated…"

 _Shit_ , Rally thought, her eyes widening a bit. _What if he knows..._

"Woke up feeling sicker than shit, I'm really not keen on eating something." With that being said, he picked his fork up again and started to eat.

Rally silently released the tension in her back by exhaling slowly, feeling relieved.

"Must've been that cocktail you put in my neck. Rally…"

The sound of choking could be heard across the room as Rally's frightened expression caused her to gag on a piece of pizza. She managed to fight the urge to throw up and swallow, before responding in kind.

-"You knew?" She asked.

"Yeah. I know. I was awake the whole time."

-"Bullshit…You were asleep! At least, it looked that way."

"You learn a lot of things in ISA. A lot of it is subterfuge and blending in. Pretending to be asleep is one of them. You stomp like an elephant down the stairs, by the way. I will admit, the drugs felt pretty good at first, then I couldn't focus, and I finally passed out after your argument with May."

A pause in the eating. Rally slowly put her fork back on her plate slowly, her hands resting in her lap as she faced forward, cheeks flushed. May bit her lip in anticipation, waiting to see what would happen next. She then leaned over in her chair and with her left hand, gently tapped Rally's shoulder.

-"Oh boy, Rally…Better start talking smooth, real fast." Rally took May's advice and quickly responded to Jorge's comments.

"I had to make sure you were genuine…I- I mean _we_ have a lot of enemies we've made over the years during our tenure…The last thing I wanted was to be caught with my pants down after showing hospitality to someone…I don't do that to just anyone…You're a dangerous man, Jorge. Far more than I anticipated. For that, I'm sorry. I hope you understand."

Jorge took a long moment to consider his words. On one hand, he was seething with anger at the underhanded technique she used. On the other, he was genuinely impressed at how far she went to keep her and her friend safe.

-"I understand." He said finally, closing his eyes to contemplate what to say next.

"So what now, Jorge? We not friends anymore? Did I hurt your feelings or some asinine bullshit?" Rally asked, getting a bit irritated at Jorge's expression.

-"No…But you and I? We're talking later."

"Oh! That reminds me!" May suddenly shouted, her hands moving to her wheelchair, spinning around and zooming off into the kitchen for but a moment, before returning with a small stack of papers. "I got Molly Grant to agree to meet us at Wrigley, and-"

Rally put her hand up, pausing the conversation for a moment.

-"One second, what? She just said "Yes" without a second thought. Did you ever think she might be planning an ambush? At Wrigley?"

There was a moment of hesitation as May replied, "I considered that option, and that's why _you're_ going to meet her, Jorge."

-"Me? We just went over this a day ago! I'm a dummy, I stick out like a sore thumb!"

"But they're not expecting you, of all people. Rally and I will wait at The Diamond Club, just south of Wrigley. She's going to exit out of the metro North of the field. Either cut her off before she gets there or we can quickly run up and pull her into the van…What do you think, Rally?"

"It'd be better for all of us to let Jorge speak with Molly, if only to give us a chance to get in position to nab her if she doesn't agree to go with our stalwart hero of the day…"

-"Fuck you," Jorge muttered. "The last time I checked, I'm no gigolo; and I don't have a wardrobe to play stupid."

"Then we'll get you one. C'mon…" Rally motioned, standing from the table to walk back into the enclosed office, returning with a small trunk, dropping it at Jorge's feet with a resounding _Thud_.

Jorge took a second to open the trunk, revealing a pressed shirt and pants, as well as a unique-looking black leather duster. Jorge pulled the duster out, surprised by the sudden weight of the garment.

-"…This isn't an ordinary jacket, is it…?" Rally smiled and reached into the inside of the jacket, within a custom inseam, pulling the Velcro fasteners apart, revealing the large ceramic plates within.

"Ballistic weave Kevlar creates the inseam, covers the interior of the jacket. Velcro inserts allow for 23 separate ballistic plates designed to protect you from throat to tibia. A gift from an old friend."

-"Old friend, huh…Then I'll be sure to put this thing to good use."

"For your sake, I hope you do," She said quietly. Jorge realized this might've been a sore subject for her, and he dropped the tough guy image for a moment, taking the Jacket from her, his hand touching hers. Warm, this time. Her expression was slightly flushed, perhaps at the conversation, maybe more.

Jorge then put the heavy jacket on. With the new addition of over sixty pounds of weight, Jorge took a moment to adjust his footing and balance while he walked across the room.

"Not too heavy. Kinda like a suit of armor, just takes some practice getting used to moving in this…Now, about firepower. My AR-15 is outta the question, but maybe a sub-compact or a Submachine gun?"

Now he was talking shop, and Rally had a sly look on her face as she quietly considered Jorge's armament capability. Slowly, she stepped around him in a circle, sizing him up, before getting up close to reach her hands inside the jacket, resting them on his abdomen, the smooth palms of her hands briskly and thoroughly inspecting every curve of his torso, her eyes focused strictly on his chest.

Jorge found the sight somewhat amusing, her bottom lip turned in as she bit down on it in deep contemplation. Her hands felt soft through the fabric, as she pressed against his chest and abdomen. Her cheeks blushed angrily as she finished checking the space in his coat.

-"Uhm…o-ok…" Rally muttered, avoiding eye contact as she quickly turned away to hide her expression, as May laughed in the background.

"What's the matter, Rally? Never pressed up against a man before?" Rally's expression glared angrily towards May.

"Shut. Up."

Jorge, in his bemusement, shook his head and walked towards the back of the office, where the armory was. Looking through the glass, he eyed the hardware he wanted for this particular mission, and pressed his index finger against the glass of the large reinforced steel door.

"What If I asked for that Uzi and that Serbu shorty, Rally…" Rally, now distracted from her embarrassment, turned to Jorge, and upon walking up to the door, unlocked and opened it, walking in and retrieving the weapons requested, placing them on the table in the middle of the room, before she smiled with a joyful look on her face.

-"This particular production of the Uzi SMG is a Gunsmith Cats special- aftermarket parts and independently milled equipment to allow the weapon to be chambered in 10 millimeter, with tight tolerances. I milled the receiver myself. This weapon fires at a rate of 750 rounds per minute with a muzzle velocity of over 1,150 feet per second, and hits with the kinetic force of 917 Joules of kinetic energy with a 230 grain load... "

"Impressive." Jorge commented, picking the weapon up and working the bolt, inspecting the trigger and safety. Quietly, he rested the weapon back on the table, before picking up the Serbu super shorty. He pumped the weapon and rose an eyebrow.

"This bore looks bigger than a 12 gauge…" he muttered as he placed his finger into the action. "This is a 10 gauge…" He concluded, withdrawing his finger from the weapon and rocking the action forward. Rally nodded, the smile still evident on her face.

-"Exactly. The tube holds two shells, plus one in the chamber, makes three. I recommend you make those count if you get caught…Now…Are you using that outdated .45 of yours as a backup?" Jorge frowned somewhat, as May quietly returned with a wooden box of unknown, resting its contents on the table with a resounding _thud_ as it came to rest on the wood, startling both Jorge and Rally.

-"May…" Rally rebuked. May rose an eyebrow as she popped the lid of the box off to reveal a variety of grenades and mines, arranged in no particular order. Jorge reached into the box and retrieved a few fragmentation grenades and remote mines.

"It'll be worth covering our asses if this whole thing turns pear-shaped…" Jorge conveyed, his eyes turning to Rally as he looked to her for input. Rally's eyes lit up as she got the hint. With a slight nod, she walked to the wooden box and reached inside, retrieving a small brick of C4.

-"Then let's get planning. The meeting is in 16 hours."

[Yang operations]

[Some time later]

Having arrived at the Yang operations building in Englewood at the corner of 63 and Halsted, Brushwood opened the front door of the business building to reveal an aged Asian man with a cigar sticking out from between his fingers. Brushwood's expression dimmed by the lack of sufficient light as the sunset crested past the windows. The man was staring off into a picture before him, his eyes touching every detail. Sam Lei stood only a few paces behind the hired gun, waiting for Yang senior to acknowledge the two of them.

The painting itself was unremarkable- a ship resting in the harbor during a storm. Allegorical context for the building they resided in. Khan finally spoke, the cigar now resting between his lips for but a moment, before it was removed and came back to rest between his fingers, his lips now free to dictate.

"This building…It burnt down two years ago…Used to be a central office for a distribution center ages ago. Now? It's my center of operations. Englewood itself is my headquarters. Every gangster and two-bit hood you see on the streets work for me directly or otherwise. I cleaned this neighborhood up and focused their ungrateful attitudes towards adding to my offshore account through means of violence, extortion, smuggling, distribution…10 years of scraping a living, a dynasty, if you will…"

Khan now walked from the picture to a few photographs resting on a new coffee table resting in the middle of the room.

"This building will be the hub of my operations. Renovated, brought to code, cleaned and sterilized of any illicit activity prior to my arrival…"

Standing above the table, Khan Yang suddenly brought his left hand down to bear on the flat top, splitting the table at the center as it collapsed upon itself, the pictures now resting among the rubble of wood.

"Only to have it threatened by PISSANTS!" That scream bellowed out of Khan's chest echoed through the empty hallways of the building, before he collected himself, fixed his tie, and retrieved the photographs, extending his hand to Brushwood, who seemed unimpressed with the display of anger.

Seeing the photographs in front of her, she took them and inspected all three, her eyes and expression still stoic, ignoring the man's hand. Khan slowly retracted it and allowed her to study her targets.

Her eyes danced across the first picture; Rally actively engaging an unknown target off-frame. The high quality photograph showed minute details of her expression and her eyes. "Female, dark-skinned…blue eyes."

-"She's a bounty hunter that goes by the name of 'Rally'. Used to be one of the best…until she retired. Now? I think she's just trying to get one last bit of glory before she croaks. 3 Million for her head. I'll throw in an extra two if you put makeup on that face before you show it to me separated from her body."

Brushwood nodded, before putting Rally's picture in the back of the stack to a picture of May, who was sitting in the park, quietly feeding the birds. The distance to her from the camera seemed eerily close, as it caught the explosives expert in a moment of weakness; smiling at the pigeons at her feet.

"Blonde. Very tiny. Wheelchair. She looks like a kid, and if she is, I want double," She negotiated, her voice cold and brooding as she inspected the photograph even more. Khan laughed a bit and shook his head.

-"No. That woman is May Hopkins. The former's partner in all of this. Same price."

Brushwood scoffed and moved May's picture to the back to reveal a face she had not seen in ages. Her lips parted somewhat, her cool expression morphed into a somewhat disgusted and angered look on her face.

"Jorge Amos."

-"Is that his name? Ex-Army ISA operative, expert in a myriad of skills, including intelligence collection. Currently a bounty hunter. The three of them are working with the ATF in the area to capture my associates and disrupt my operation."

Brushwood gave a dark smile as she placed the pictures in the vest pocket of her coat. "For Jorge, I'll do it for free. He and I have unfinished business we have to attend to."

-"On the contrary, your business will have to wait. We have a developing situation near Wrigley Field. I'd like for you to accompany our charge, Miss Molly Grant, as she is to meet your targets in the area tomorrow morning. My Lieutenants will be with you as protection and extra muscle. In the meantime, Miss Brushwood, I'd like for you to get some rest."

The hired gun sighed slightly as she looked down to her briefcase, before glancing back up to the Salakau boss.

"I don't need your two lackeys to cover for me; they'd be of better use leading whatever group of people you have in capturing my targets." Khan laughed as he puffed quietly on the stump of the cigar between his teeth. His eyes glanced at the clock in the room, before shaking his head.

-"You don't have a choice in the matter. You do what you're paid to do. That's all I hired you for. Any deviation and you are only proving to me that women aren't designed for this kind of lifestyle."

Brushwood ignored the sexist undertone of Yang's statement, and instead turned her eyes to the clock where Yang was staring. The money- and the payback- would be beneficial, she surmised.

"Fine. We'll do this your way. What time is the deal?" She asked, conceding defeat for the moment, as Khan Yang smiled and turned from the clock.

"10:30 A.M. So. I assume you're jet-lagged. Feel free to use the penthouse upstairs for your own needs. A car will be here to retrieve you in the morning…"

With that, Yang snapped his fingers, beckoning both Sams to follow the kingpin out of the building, leaving Brushwood alone with her thoughts.

[The Next Day]

[0200 HRS]

[Gunsmith Cats Office]

Jorge laid awake in his bed. His eyes open wide as he stared at the moon ray shooting through between the blinds. A slow breeze had come in overnight and pushed the branches of a distant tree back and forth gently, creating a dance of leaf shadows across the glass pane of the window of his room.

Quietly, he heard a knock on his door. _"Jorge"_ it whispered.

"I'm awake," Jorge responded, quietly. A thin-framed woman entered through the doorway. Rally. Dressed in a long T-shirt that covered her hips, she slowly entered and stopped at the edge of his bed.

"I didn't want to disturb you, but…I've had a lot on my mind these past few days, and I needed someone to vent to. I'd talk to May, but she's out like a light…Do you mind?"

Jorge slowly sat up and scooted himself backward against the headboard of the guest bed, pressing his bare skin to the wood, cold to the touch. He pulled his knees in and shook his head.

-"That's fine. I wasn't asleep anyway. Too much to think about," he admitted, his eyes gauging Rally as he sat there. This was odd, for sure. "What do you want?" He asked, his voice resting evenly between cordial and distant. Rally took a moment to fix a lock in her hair before taking a deep breath and answering Jorge.

"I need to be frank with you. I've been thinking about my shop, and the business. With you here, in the same business, at least, I wanted to ask if you'd be interested in joining up with me- Permanently- a full time member of Gunsmith Cats…You're smart, efficient, you know your way around weapons, and you can handle yourself in a fight…"

-"You came downstairs from your room in your T-shirt to tell me you want me to join your company?"

"Yeah," She admitted, her cheeks flushed in the dimly lit room. "It sounded better when I thought it through upstairs…This just seems awkward, I suppose. Sorry."

-"I accept your invitation…When everything's done here, of course. I still have to relocate and move my inventory…but we'll cross that bridge when we get there."

Rally stood there at the edge of the bed, dumbfounded. He just agreed. Just like that, no coercion or suggestion. She had the perfect sell, had Jorge declined the offer. She shrugged and smiled a bit.

"Then I guess I worried over nothing…Wait. Why did you agree so suddenly, then?"

Jorge sighed and cleared his throat for a moment, before turning his gaze to the moon ray in the window.

-"A lot of reasons. Colorado is nice. It's quiet. Great neighborhoods. Low crime. Puts a damper on my business…It's why I accepted this job in the first place. Knowing this town needs a serious overhaul, however...I feel compelled to agree…"

Rally nodded as she gauged Jorge's reaction. Something wasn't adding up, but she couldn't put her finger on it.

"There's something else. Someone, I suppose," Jorge added. "I don't know if it's worth putting my eggs in that basket before I can check the thickness of its wicker. On top of that, I have a lot of personal demons I'm fighting. I just… Need to get away from my old life, indefinitely."

-"Even your son?" Rally asked. Jorge's expression soured a bit as he thought about this, his eyes burning from the frustration he felt at that situation.

"…Even my son. He has his mother, for now. She gives him stability where I do the opposite. Right now, however…I need to focus on my life. My son is important, but I would be doing more harm than good trying to get back into his life. At the very least, I want him to know I'm there, but even considering that hurts me…If I can't have him for the rest of my life, I don't want him at all…"

A long moment of silence seemed to cast a veil on the conversation, as Rally bit back the urge to chastise the man on his decision. She didn't know his home life before these events. Hell, she didn't even know this man existed prior to the events at Belmont Harbor. The least she could do at this moment was provide an ear.

-"…Do you think it's in your son's best interest? To not see his father?"

"It is until I either quit, die, or retire. I don't want him involved in my life right now. My line of work would eventually make him a liability…"

Another moment of silence. Rally finally sat on the empty space of the bed Jorge provided, and sat cross-legged from him. She could see the frustration in his eyes as he gripped the sheet on the bed tight. Rally leaned forward to rest her arms on either side of the man. Using her left hand, she reached under his chin and brought it up to eye-level with her. Her hand gently rested against his cheek as she looked into his eyes with mixed emotion. Anger, empathy…Even attraction.

-"You're doing what you think is right. Nobody can judge you for that choice…I've had bad times, too. I was on the edge of suicide not even a week ago. Do you know what stopped me? You. Hearing that APB for backup from your partner at Belmont stopped me. My generosity, coupled with your drive to bring a criminal to justice, to capture that person alive…The thrill of the hunt! That's what you did to me. You gave me purpose. Another reason to live. The way you're feeling? Everyone gets that way. You just have to find another reason to live, as you gave me one! Put your baggage away. Just for now…"

She leaned in and gave Jorge a gentle kiss on his forehead, before stepping away from him, and exiting the room quietly, closing the door. Jorge, still beside himself, wide-eyed and cheeks slightly rosy from this exchange, felt the warmth on his cheek where her hand lay dissipate back to room temperature, as his expression softened a bit more, considering both her words and his obligations as a father and bounty hunter.

He reached up and gently touched the spot on his forehead where Rally had planted her lips just moments before, his eyes closed as he let out a deep sigh. Clueless as to how he could rationalize his feelings, he surrendered and slowly laid back down, closing his eyes and rolling over.

Rally, meanwhile, stood outside Jorge's door, her heart beating at a pace she was not comfortable with, her expression conservative- pursed lips and tight eyes focused squarely on the floor at her feet. _It wasn't intentional. Spurn of the moment. Wasn't it? God, This man drives me…crazy. But WHY._

Rally then headed upstairs, where an anxious Minnie May was waiting, her excitement palpable. She nearly lunged at her with the question burning deep into her mind.

"Did you kiss him?"

-"On the forehead. I told him the way he's feeling now is normal…The man's damaged, emotionally. Obviously, his personal issues weigh heavy on him, and the fact he is still here working with us instead of being a mess says volumes about his dedication. He didn't seem like he'd be interested in any kind of relationship anyway…but I did ask him to stay here with us after everything's said and done…" Rally concluded, her bare feet lifted off the wood floor and atop the bedsheets, now lying next to May, who seemed angry with the bounty hunter.

"You had my hopes up that you'd actually mustered up enough courage to cash in that V-card of yours, Rally."

-"Shut up, May…Now…for this meeting, do we agree that I should be watching from another building?"

May nodded her head somewhat, her blue eyes focused on Rally's expression. "You and I both know that something like this has a tendency of turning pear-shaped at the last minute. If we put you on a rooftop overlooking the deal, then I can drive the van and pick up our target, and if things turn sour, at the very least, you can use your car to escort Jorge while I drive off with our prize in tow."

-"Exactly. That's what we agreed on…Now, what do I take? The PSG-1? Or…"

May popped up with a suggestion, her voice as charming as ever, in a tone reminiscent of a little girl.

"Oooh! Use that new one you just got! The AWC-G2!" Rally's eyebrows peaked at this suggestion, her expression turning from contemplative, to playful.

-"It would be nice to see how it performs…It's a bullpup, and easily carried up and down ladders. Fires a round perfect for penetration. Sounds like a plan, May. Now let's get some sleep before we end up dead tired."

[10:00 A.M.]

[Diamond Club, Near Wrigley Field]

Jorge adjusted the coat on his shoulders for the third time this morning. As one of the last smoking bars in the city of Chicago, the Diamond Club gave socialites a chance to escape the P.C. attitudes of the outside, if only for a moment.

Smoke billowed up from Jorge's nostrils, a cigarette burning angrily between his lips as he spoke softly into the small wire he wore on his body, the near-invisible earpiece allowing him to hear everything Rally and Minnie May would say, and vice versa.

"This place would be nice for a few beers. It's cozy…" He dictated, admiring the Cubs regalia through the clubhouse, particularly upon the flag on the wall in front of him, a white background with a black 'W' on it.

-"It's a great place. It'd be a shame if we had to shoot it up…and we just might. Remember, Jorge, we're here to pick up Molly, not interrogate her. That comes later. I'm just down the road from the club, and I have you in sight."

"Just _try_ not to aim _at_ me."

-"Easy now, tiger…I'd never think of it."

Rally smiled while she watched Jorge drink his coffee from 200 meters away up the road from her vantage point. Her scope scanned the street for any sign of their target as she adjusted her frame resting on the asphalt of the rooftop, her torso supported by a shooting mat she had brought along. In tow, the AWC G2 Bullpup Sniper system. Chambered in 7.62 NATO, she knew the weapon would be worth using to cover her partner should things turn for the worst during the meet.

The street surrounding the Diamond Club and the local shops was packed with tourists and shoppers here for the holiday, and subsequent game that would take place later that evening.

Meanwhile, Brushwood, Molly, and both Sam Lei and Wu had just exited the L and were moving south towards the club. Brushwood, dressed similarly to her counterparts in season-appropriate coats, which hid their pieces, as well as a myriad of gangsters following in distance behind the group of four.

"Remember," Brushwood instructed, turning her head to her two lieutenants, "We're here to make sure those three bounty hunters won't interfere in Mr. Yang's business again. Collateral damage is irrelevant."

Sam Lei nodded, while his female counterpart simply smiled. "It'll be done."

The three of them stood just outside the building, waiting for the blacked out limo to arrive carrying Molly Grant. It wouldn't take long, as the vehicle crawled its way to the curbside next to the Diamond Club.

"Standby," Jorge spoke quietly. "Car just pulled up. Possibly our target. Get ready, Rally."

From Jorge's seat, he could see the passenger door open, revealing Molly, dressed in a conservative business suit. Walking inside the building, she noticed Jorge, and without skipping a beat, she found an empty chair next to him, and sat down quietly. A few moments of silence passed, before she checked her surroundings.

 _"You're not supposed to be a male,"_ She whispered.

-"I've always been male," Jorge responded, which elicited a hiss from Molly, who pushed a curl of hair out of her face.

 _"I'm not kidding, damnit! Minnie May said she would be here!"_

"I get that, but you have me, and we're part of the same group. Are you willing to come with us?"

 _"Yes, but I have to tell you the truth- It's a setup. Khan Yang sent an assassin here to kill you, and me. You have to help me…Get me outta here, before they show up!"_

"Rally?" Jorge asked. Rally was too busy adjusting her sights on the trio standing outside the club, waiting.

-"Yeah, I heard all of that, It's a bit late to get her out without a fight now…Do what you can, I'll make sure you're covered. May?"

May, on cue, hopped on the radio and quickly gave a rundown of the escape plan. "The blueprints of the Diamond Club show an emergency exit that leads to the alley adjacent, next to you. If you take a left from there, I can pick up Molly, and you and Rally can have all the fun taking care of Yang's mooks."

"Shit…Okay," Was all Jorge replied with, before turning his attention back to Molly. Just then, out of the corner of his eye, Jorge could see the three silhouettes standing in the doorway, scanning the club for Molly.

 _"What do I do…"_ Molly hissed quietly, as Jorge reached slowly into his coat.

"Behind me, There is an Emergency Exit. I want you to run through that door and take a left. There will be a Van at the end of the alley. It will take you out of here. Don't stop running, no matter what happens. Okay?"

Molly's eyes welled with tears as Jorge stood up and walked past her.

"Go." He grunted, pushing her shoulder towards the exit. Like a shot, Molly stood up and bolted, tripping the alarm system in the Club. The patrons inside stood up with fright and concern, obscuring the bead they had on Jorge, as the bounty hunter quickly drew the customized Uzi and positioned himself behind a pillar.

Brushwood and the other two noticed Jorge standing, but couldn't see where Molly had gone to. However, the fire alarm narrowed down the possibilities.

"Wu. Find her," Brushwood's voice commanded over the sound of the fire alarm. Sam Wu did as instructed, and turned back outside, while Sam Lei and the assassin both drew their weapons and fired a few times in the air.

"Clear out!" Brushwood demanded. The crowd did so in a disorderly fashion, kicking over tables and other, slower patrons as they rushed out of the door onto the street, stoking chaos around them.

Lei quickly reached into his pocket and retrieved his cell phone, pushing a number on speed dial as he held a Tec-9 in his off-hand.

"Yeah, it's Lei! Send the boys in! We got this worm cornered at the Club!"

Molly ran as fast as her sneakers could carry her, out of the emergency door, and left onto the sun-kissed asphalt of the alley. Each footfall carried the burden of fear in her chest, as she saw a white van pull up, and open the side door, revealing a single seat waiting for Molly. She quickly ran into the vehicle, seated herself, and slammed the door. May, in the driver's seat, smiled and did so, speeding off through the congested traffic via the bicycle lane, until she was clear.

"Rally! Its just you and Jorge now! I have Molly! See you soon!"

That was enough information for Rally. Through her scope, she had lost visual with Jorge and the other three amidst the chaos spilling into the street.

"Jorge, what's going on in there," Rally asked, a bead of sweat starting to form over her eyebrow scoped into the weapon.

-"I only count two. Brushwood and some creep next to her. Weapons drawn, they're pushing civilians out of the building, working the room. I'm next to the exit, by a pillar. Keep me covered?"

"I can't see you, Jorge! How the hell am I supposed to cover you!?"

With that being said, Jorge took the safety off his Uzi.

-"Like this."

Standing out of cover, Jorge sprayed the doorway above Brushwood, eliciting cries of fear from the crowd still vacating. Brushwood and Sam responded by firing back in Jorge's general direction.

Now that the club had cleared out, Brushwood quickly motioned to Sam to find a spot of cover while she moved up along the tables and half-eaten plates of food. The alarm had stopped blaring, for some reason, but the blue halogen lights continued to pulse every second, in tempo with the now inaudible alarm klaxon.

Brushwood immediately stopped moving and stood in the atrium of the back dining area, where Jorge stood. The two of them stood across from each other, saying nothing. Rally, from her vantage point, dialed the scope against Brushwood's head, and started to put pressure on the trigger.

"Jorge, I have a bead on her, say when!"

Brushwood then _spoke_.

"Jorge Quincy Amos," Her voice soft as velvet, a pang of sadness in her diction as she continued. "I should've known it was you all along, throwing a wrench in my employer's business. Only a man like you could make such a big splash at that harbor. I watched the security footage. You haven't aged a day, dear…"

Jorge said nothing as his weapon remained trained on his one-time flame.

"Nothing? No 'hello'? Oh…That's right. You're on mission. Can't compromise yourself for a few moments to catch up? I'm hurt, Jorge…But enough small-talk. You have someone my employer would like back."

-"Tough shit. She's ours now. Can't take that back."

"No, Jorge. She's _MINE._ Otherwise, I don't get paid…well, that's a half-truth, I-"

" _WOULD YOU TWO SHUT THE FUCK UP AND KILL EACH OTHER ALREADY_?!"

Brushwood turned suddenly, her pistol resting in her gloved hand suddenly trained itself on Sam Lei's head, and with the sound of a .44, a sudden pink mist danced through the room, as the lifeless body of Khan's lieutenant lay motionless on the floor. A long silence passed, before Brushwood slowly turned the pistol on Jorge. Jorge couldn't believe what he had just seen, and the dumb look on his face spoke volumes as he kept his weapon trained on Brushwood.

"So…just us now, Jorgie. What'll it be? You gonna give up the girl?"

Rally, from her position, gritted her teeth and took the safety off her rifle.

"Jorge, I'm taking the shot."

-"Shit." Jorge rolled left, just as Brushwood squeezed off another two rounds of her pistol, leaving holes where the bounty hunter had been. The window to Jorge's left suddenly shattered, as gunfire erupted within the room, as Jorge sprayed the area in front of him until the magazine felt light.

A sharp hissing sound could be heard, as smoke filled the room. Brushwood had dropped a smoke grenade, it seemed. Jorge took this moment to find the exit and moved quickly out of the building. He took a right, and headed down the alley back onto the front end of the Club. Standing between a recessed corner, he quickly dropped the magazine to his Uzi and reached into his jacket to retrieve a new mag. The old one clattered about his feet as he fed the SMG a new magazine, pulling the bolt back to load a fresh round.

"Rally? Where's Brushwood?" Jorge asked, a faint drone of engines being heard in the distance. Rally couldn't see, on account of the smoke, but she moved the scope left to catch a glimpse of a large body of motorcycles buzzing off the interstate and onto the road. From a distance, the sunlight glinted off the chrome bodies and pipework of the motorcycles, as the engines droned ever closer to Jorge.

Jorge suddenly heard the droning approaching. He thought for a moment as to what it could be, but before he could make any thought process, he felt a sudden burst of pressure into his back, followed by a rocking motion, kicking him off his feet and onto his stomach, as the report of a .44 was heard echoing through the alleyway.

"Rally!" Jorge bellowed, which caught the Gunsmith Cat's attention. She turned the scope back on Jorge, and quickly zeroed in on The assassin, Brushwood. Squeezing off a round, she could see the vapor trail entering directly into the woman's chest, as she fell backwards.

The motorcycle droning was louder than a hive of bees, as dozens and dozens of bikers stormed through the streets, searching aggressively for the bounty hunter or Molly.

Jorge rolled onto his back as she stared at the motionless body of Brushwood. Finding his footing, finally, Jorge quickly stood and attempted to make his way across the street, before being cut off by a group of bikers, pushing him back into the alley.

"Jorge!" Rally shouted over the radio. Jorge heard this, and turned his head, to view another group of bikers. They were cornering him.

-"Just go, Rally. I got this…" Jorge whispered, as he slowly dropped his weapon and put his hands in the air. The sounds of safeties being taken off, as well as other weapons being cocked echoed through the air.

-"I got this…"

Rally, unwilling to leave Jorge, witnessed him standing defiantly amidst the crowd of bikers on all sides. One of them dismounted his bike and walked up to the man, crowbar in hand. Cocking his arm back, Rally could see the claw brought to bear against the side of Jorge's skull, his body crumping to the floor as he fell.

"Goddamnit," She gasped, as she fought back the urge to start shooting every mook she could see, and instead, quickly packed up her weapon and headed down to street level, rushing to her G.T. 500 awaiting her at the bottom of the ladder. Quickly hopping into the driver's seat, she kicked the engine over and sped off before the bikers could catch a glimpse of her. Tears stinging her eyes out of frustration, she put her foot down on the gas and tried to catch up with Minnie May back at the store.


	6. Profile: Jorge Amos

_PROFILE DATA: FILE NO. 30529568_

 _NAME: JORGE QUINCY AMOS_

 _BIRTHDATE: AUGUST 23, 1980_

 _HEIGHT: 74 IN._

 _WEIGHT: 104.32 KG_

 _BIRTHPLACE: SPRINGDALE, UTAH, UNITED STATES_

 _BIO:_

 _Born to a police officer and a school teacher, Jorge grew up in an assuming household, even after his parents divorced at a young age. Despite this, his depression from the event left him in an emotional state where he desired to lash out against his parents by seeking adventure wherever he went. This culminated in High School, where Jorge found himself amidst a drug ring with his friends. Upon this discovery, he made it known anonymously to the police department, citing details with remarkable clarity and conviction, that a majority of the testimony brought against the drug trafficking classmates were based on the testimony of Jorge's diction and recollection of accurate dates and times._

 _The government became aware of Jorge's talent, and offered to foot the bill to college, as long as he agreed to serve in the US Army's Intelligence Service Agency (ISA) following his graduation. Jorge agreed, as college was something financially out of his parent's reach._

 _Upon graduating from the University of Southern California in 2002 with a Bachelors in Criminal Justice, Jorge enlisted in the United States Army's ISA, and was commissioned as a Second Lieutenant, before being assigned to Task Force [REDACTED] In [DATA EXPUNGED], Afghanistan._

 _Amos Left the Military in 2010 to return home to a new wife and a new life. However, he found his experiences in the military to clout the experience of civilian life, and in 2011, Started a Bounty Hunting Business in Bullfrog Junction, Colorado._

 _PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE:_

 _Jorge is a Guarded individual upon meeting new individuals, but seems to warm up after some time to reveal he is an Engaging person, who finds pleasure In dedicating details and information to memory. His time in the military has helped to adapt Jorge even further, turning him into an efficient recorder of information, as well as a skilled marksman._

 _Despite his outgoing nature, and in spite of his size, Jorge carries himself with a light step, oftentimes being the end of jokes related to his silence. Nicknamed 'Ghost' by his peers for his aloof tendencies, He has used it to his benefit. He seeks challenge in his life, and actively seeks cooperation in accomplishing his goals. His strong sense of Morality and his dedication to whatever he sets his mind to would lead many to assume Jorge is comfortable with responsibility and leadership roles._

 _OTHER NOTES:_

 _His experience in Afghanistan has created symptomatic behavior of dissociative identity disorder; utilized to detach himself emotionally from stressful situations. However, he has manipulated it to his benefit as he maintains his sense of orientation and responsibility. Further investigation is required before a full conclusion is to be made._


	7. Everyone, Meet Miss Fortune

_"Just go, Rally. I got this…"_

That phrase rang about Jorge's ears as his vision cleared, and his eyes opened. Whispers of conversations he never had followed just behind his last words, as the pupils focused on a blank wall in front of him. It took a moment before he realized he was upside down, and an even longer moment before he realized the side of his head stung worse than anything he had imagined.

What felt like a bead of sweat danced from the temple of his skull along his brow, before falling to the floor below. Peering now at the ground, he noticed the droplets of what he perceived were sweat, were in fact blood, and had pooled around his head as he looked to the ceiling at his feet- wrapped in chain and hung off a meat hook, his body stripped of weapons and clothing, leaving him nude.

His breaths labored as he reached up to undo the chains around his meat hook, but upon his attempt at reaching the chains, noticed another crossbar suspended his arms, along with shackles connected to weights.

"Damn…" He muttered, his head feeling the pressure of the inversion on his body. Bare, sweaty fingers and toes tried desperately to figure a way out of their bindings, before a door opening in the distance caused him to stop.

Footsteps. Slow, causal strides as they made their way to the nude Jorge. His vision blurred by a red haze from the increase in blood flow, he could make out a pair of suited legs and dress shoes standing nonchalantly in his blood pool. The man standing before him was middle-aged, his voice was subdued by an accent Jorge had not heard before- Eastern European, but Americanized.

"You're awake. Good. I thought the bludgeon to your skull did you in, but it looks like it was merely a glancing blow…Let me see."

Upon finishing his sentence, his hands reached up and gripped Jorge's head wound tightly. Jorge bellowed out in pain as the man jabbed a finger into the pulsing wound, the blood flow now a steady stream from the trickle it was before. The man removed his finger after a moment.

"No…No fracture. Pity." The man then wiped the blood against Jorge's bare chest as he reached into his suit pocket and retrieved a cigar, lighting it and puffing away at the tobacco, until the leaf stump caught ember. With that, he took a long drag, before shoving it in Jorge's mouth for a moment to allow him to inhale the smoke between bouts of painful groans.

"I am Itzak Pisk. I hear you are a bounty-hunter, yes?"

-"Y-yes," Jorge muttered, inhaling the cigar smoke unwillingly as he stared up at the man. "I am."

Pisk didn't seem impressed with the answer, instead, taking the cigar from Jorge's mouth, and throwing a gloved right fist into his lower abdomen. The resulting impact knocked the wind out of Jorge with a loud groan. Now, struggling to breathe, Pisk turned and started to walk away.

-"You're tougher than I figured you would be. Brushwood will enjoy seeing you again." He walked out of view and the sound of a door opened, a pair of footsteps seemed to pass each other, before the familiar voice of Brushwood echoed in Jorge's ears.

"Jorge…I see the restraints are holding up…I apologize, but I know you, and I can't take any risks. You're a dangerous man."

-"And you're a wanted International assassin. What's the difference?" Jorge responded. Brushwood smiled, kneeled down and gripped Jorge's bloodied scalp in her cool slender hands, her honey-colored eyes peering into his green.

"I'm not naked…Speaking of which, Your two 'friends' will be getting an unexpected guest when they return to base with their new charge."

-"The hell you talking about?"

"There were three of us," Brushwood mused, leaning forward to give a deep kiss to Jorge's lips, pulling back with a smudge of blood on her face. Slowly, she thumbed it off her jaw, and slowly placed the thumb in her mouth, giving an erogenous moan as she sucked the blood off. "The man I shot, myself, and the woman who seemed to disappear before the gunfight. I gave her the order to tail your friends once they acquired my dear Molly…"

-"…So then, what are you gonna do to me?" Jorge quietly asked, his mind fixated on Rally and Minnie May being attacked when they least expect it. Brushwood, on the other hand, smiled and reached into her jacket pocket, retrieving a switchblade, popping the blade out and holding it in her left hand.

-"Oh…Things."

[Gunsmith Cats Office]

[Some time later]

Rally had managed to fight off the frustration she felt earlier and made it back to the office, May's van already parked in the garage, to which she parked just behind and shut the engine off. She sat there within the confines of the car, rested her head on the steering wheel of her G.T. 500, and closed her eyes tightly, recalling the images she had seen- Jorge having his head snapped back with the impact of a heavy steel crowbar to the side of his head. She could see his eyes dart back into his head and his body went lax.

"Christ," She said softly, inhaling sharply as she tucked the horror back into her psyche. "He's dead…We have to finish this for him."

With that, she left the vehicle and stepped inside the office, finding it extremely quiet, given the chaos they had just escaped from. Rally stopped at the doorway and listened carefully. Her hand slowly reaching inside her coat to retrieve her CZ 75 from its shoulder holster. Her feet carried her quickly from the entryway into the office, weapon at the low ready as her thumb carefully teased the safety. Inspecting the office, she moved through the room to the guest bedroom, seeing the door closed. Her off-hand gripped the doorknob and with a quick push, forced the door in, her pistol at the ready. The muzzle of the weapon came across a wounded Minnie May, laying motionless on the floor, her wheelchair nowhere to be seen.

"May!," Her voice hushed as she walked a bit closer. May, slowly turned to glance at Rally, before weakly mouthing something.

-"Behind…" She said softly.

It was too late, however. The door closed, and beyond the threshold of the wood, revealed Molly on her knees, with a long razor's blade pressed against her neck, as Sam Wu's wild expression stared right at Rally's face.

"No. Don't move. Don't want your friend's blood all over this nice floor…" Wu's voice was calm, given the situation, while Molly choked on her tears, quietly shivering in fear as the blade pressed against her jugular.

-"What do you want?" Rally asked quietly, the pistol still sitting at the low ready. Wu pressed the blade firmly against Molly's throat, stopping the woman from shivering, as the front of her pants began to darken in color.

"Nothing." Sam Wu then cut across Molly's neck, the crimson suddenly spraying out of the open wound as Molly helplessly gripped the wound, falling to the ground. Rally quickly readied her weapon and plugged three rounds into Sam Wu's head, turning the back wall behind her into a pasty red mess as her body fell lifelessly to the floor, her legs twitching with the firing of dying synapses. Rally quickly headed to Molly and quickly put her pistol on the ground, while she reached into the wound with her left hand and searched for the jugular with her fingers. Upon finding it, she quickly pinched the vein and turned to the still Injured May.

"May, are you okay?" Rally asked as May gave a weak nod. She forced herself to turn onto her backside, propping herself against the wall as she reached into her pocket to reach her cellphone, while Rally tried to keep the bleeding under control.

"She…She…," Molly muttered as her breathing became hurried and fearful, the blood pooling around her head as she felt flush and faint. "She actually did it..." Her eyes started to glaze over as her hand fumbled into her pocket and retrieved a wad of papers, held in her hand weakly as she struggled to speak.

"These…Take them. Codes to Khan's server. They have all the information you need."

-"Chrissake, Shut up, save your strength. Paramedics are coming," Rally hissed as she took the notes and pocketed them with her free hand, before turning over to May, who was on the line with a 911 Operator. "How long 'til they get here?!"

"They didn't say!" Minnie May shouted back, as she now slumped onto the ground, useless without her wheelchair, and still injured from the sneak attack Wu had delivered onto her. "Rally, I'm sorry; I should've watched where I was going, I-I didn't mean for any of this-"

-"The one thing you can do for me now is to keep calm..." She then turned her head to Molly's worried expression. "Molly. That's your name, right? Tell me, when you woke up today, did you think it'd end like this?"

"N-n-no…No."

-"Good. Keep thinking that. You're going to be fine, just relax."

The paramedics arrived a few minutes later, along with a police escort. Agent Kovic and Spooner had arrived alongside the authorities to check in on Jorge's friends and to inspect the damage.

Agent Spooner was the first to comment on the crime scene as paramedics were busy stabilizing Molly's wound. Reports were issued, as well as the three taken to the hospital shortly after.

Inside the Ambulance, Rally and May sat quietly across from each other, With May subdued by painkillers and resting on the gurney between them. The ride was bumpy and loud as they drove quickly along the freeway.

"Rally…" May said softly, her wheelchair secured tightly into the side panels of the ambulance as the seatbelt strap vibrated with each passing bump. "Rally, I'm sorry. This was my fault."

-"No. No, this wasn't your fault…This is nobody's fault. This is what we should have expected from a criminal organization like this. The Salakau. The Bratva. The Outfit, too. Only they could allow this much bloodshed without repercussion. They were betting on Khan and Pisk to react the way they did. Mercilessly…And it's time we did the same."

"Rally…?" Minnie May inquired, wondering what was cooking in her friend's head.

-"I saw Jorge die. He died to give you and I time. It's borrowed time, now. We have to end this madness to our town before any more violence breaks out…We do it for Jorge."

"Right," May agreed. "But what do we tell the ATF? They'll want to know what happened to him?"

Rally took a moment to look at Molly's bloodied bandages on her neck, before taking a deep breath.

"The truth. Their agent is dead, and we're the only link they have left."


	8. Gameplan

Jorge felt each press of Brushwood's blade against his cold nude skin. Each cut throbbed, and with each pulse of pain, blood seemed to come trickling afterward.

"Jorge…You're a smart man…You should know when the game's up. You're in my hands now, dear."

-"I see that…" He groaned quietly, his body swinging from the force his captor has pressed upon him as she cut. Gashes streaked across his arms and abdomen, only skin-deep, but painful nonetheless. "How's about you tell me what your aim is?"

A moment of hesitation. Brushwood considered his request for what seemed like minutes. Her eyes closed, she reached out and stopped Jorge from swinging, holding him still. With her other hand still clutching the switchblade, she slowly turned her grip, putting the knife angled towards the floor, as she reared back and jammed the blade into his shoulder, eliciting a pained scream from Jorge, much to the apparent erotic pleasure of Brushwood, as she now kneeled down to eye level with Jorge, and with her gloved hand, cradled his cheek as she gave him a loving kiss amidst his protests of injury.

Seemingly satisfied with this action, she pulled the blade out from her target and put the knife away for the moment, taking a long, drawn-out sigh.

"…Khan wants you dead. You and those two harlots you're palling around with. 10 Million for you, three for each of them…If it makes you feel any better…I didn't want 10 for you. I wanted to do you for free…the way you did me."

-"That operation wasn't meant to leave you behind. _You_ made that choice to turn your back on us, on the ISA, on the United States!" Brushwood's expression soured as she slapped his face, the chains hooked to his legs chattering as he swung back and forth with more force now.

"We had something! We could've been good for each other! We were better than this world, Jorge!" Tears welled in her eyes now. Frustration, anger, sorrow. It all came pouring out.

-"No. _You_ _wanted something_. The nights we spent together were the biggest mistakes I ever made. We should've known better; we were professionals sent to do the work of our nation, and we both make that mistake…But you turned it into something more malevolent and dark than it ever should have been…Innocent feelings turned you into a cold-hearted bitch, _Francine_."

Silence. Brushwood turned away from him quickly. "Don't call me that…Don't. Ever. Call me that." She hissed softly, as she turned back around to drive a fist into his abdomen, the cuts she had applied previously now reopening as she had stretched the tender flesh to tear once more.

The blood from Jorge's wounds pooled around his head as each drop of blood freely danced along the contours of Jorge's muscles; abdomen to chest, to shoulders and arms, and finally, trickling to the ground from his fingertips. A thin sheen of his ichor had stained the concrete, as the bounty hunter's head felt light from the loss of blood. He could sense his vision dimming from the pain, finally.

"Francine…" He whispered softly as he lost consciousness. Brushwood stared at his damaged, nude frame hanging from the ceiling. The warehouse they were in was mostly abandoned, and even if she had killed him, the body would remain for weeks, before someone would come along, possibly looking for a crack den, and stumble upon a long bloated, deceased man's body, tortured to death…

But this was not the case. Jorge was still alive. Brushwood expected to keep him alive as long as possible to inflict as much pain as she could. For now, however, she was done with him.

Quietly, she walked out of the room, speaking something to another person behind the doorway, and closed the door.

[Meanwhile]

Rally sat quietly in the waiting room while the surgical team operated on Molly's wounds. May sat beside the bounty hunter, with Special Agent Kovic and Spooner sitting across from them. Their voices hushed, as it was late in the evening, though Spooner and Kovic seemed taken aback from the news Rally had just given them.

"…Amos is dead, then. You saw a mook with a crowbar lodge the fucker in the side of his skull? Damn…" Kovic muttered, an unlit cigarette drooping past his lips, mimicking the frown he wore on his face. Spooner seemed detached from all the news. Her arms crossed and brow furrowed to fight back the deep pulsing anger within. Slowly, she spoke, trying to gather her words to create a thought.

-"…He didn't deserve this…He shouldn't have been the only one out there…But that was Jorge. Didn't think about his own safety, not even when the world's falling around him. Selfish bastard…"

Kovic took a moment to reach into his jacket and pull out a manila envelope, passing it to Rally.

"This is some correspondence I was going to hand over to Jorge. We intercepted a phone call between Khan Yang and Pisk. They're going to meet at a warehouse just outside of town at McMahon Woods. Pisk said there was a woman with him who he got spooked by. Khan said she was hired help…any bells being rung there?"

-"Yeah…" Minnie May said quietly, nursing her arm, now in a sling as she released the brake on her wheelchair, turning around and locking it back in place, to get a better lock at the paunchy ATF Agent. "Are you implying Brushwood is there?"

-"None other," Spooner said, her expression still sour as she thought contemplatively. "It were up to me, I'd hit that place, full force."

"…Then maybe we should," Rally said, her hand gripping the correspondence tightly in her balled fist. "Jorge would do anything to capture Khan and Pisk…"

-" _After_ we weigh our options," Kovic said, his voice rising in pitch to match the gravity of the conversation. "Can't go in half-cocked. We need to make sure that whatever we're going to do next, isn't putting anyone in needless harm."

A moment of hesitation and uncomfortable fidgeting gave a pause in the conversation, before Kovic cleared his throat and spoke again.

"How is Molly?"

-"Doctor said she was handling surgery well. Expected to pull through in a few days…" Rally gave a reassuring nod, before resting a hand on Minnie May's lap.

"Agent Kovic, do you intend on keeping Molly safe?" Her eyes focused on Kovic's stout features, as the man's eyes focused on her in turn.

-"Yes, I do. Then she'll be put under arrest."

"What would it take for you to forego the 'under arrest' thing, and let her work with us?" Minnie May asked, her hands now resting on the wheelchair arm rests.

-"Out of the question. She has a bounty and an outstanding warrant. No way we're letting her go."

"House arrest then," Rally said, her eyebrow raised. "She can't leave without one of us present, and you can keep tabs on her.

-"Eugh…" Kovic flattened, his hands in his face for a brief moment as he wiped away loose strands of hair. "I'll see what I can convince the DA to do. That's the best I can offer."

"Fair enough." Rally smiled as she reached into her blood-stained jacket pocket to produce an equally soiled tape recorder, its record function activated. She gave a cheeky smirk, pressing the stop button. She had him now.

-"Nothin' I can do about that…Priority's getting to this warehouse and apprehending the last two of these guys…With the help of the Local PD and our task force, we should be able to surround the building. Uh..."

Kovic stopped speaking to turn to his subordinate. Still silent, her arms crossed, her face scowled in a form of deep contemplation- or just trying to fight back the throes of frustration in her body.

"You gonna say anything, Deliah?"

Agent Spooner quietly opened her eyes to glare at her boss for a moment, before focusing her brown orbs on Rally's face.

"I never should've let Jorge out of my sight. I let him go on a lead, and the three of you shoot up a four-block radius…You're just as reckless as Jorge was, and I will be glad when I see you and 'hot wheels' over there arrested or dead."

The two bounty hunters kept quiet, Rally looking on with apathy as Spooner continued. She let out a deep breath and composed herself. Before she spoke again, her phone vibrated. Quickly, she pulled the phone out of its case on her hip and answered the call.

"Spooner."

 _-"Agent Spooner, this is Detective Hatch from Chicago Vice. I'm here at the scene of the shootout earlier today. Given all the brass on the ground, it's a miracle only one body's here."_

"Just one body? Is it a man named Jorge Amos?" The other three beside Agent Spooner listened intensely as the conversation continued.

 _-"Negative. Corpse is a Sam Lei. Known biker and drug trafficker in the area. Head of his own biker gang…Used to be, anyways, before he took a forty-four to the skull… We looked in the alleyway, and that's where the brass casings stop showing up. All that's there is a pool of blood, and some drag marks. Blood pattern indicates blunt force, probably a hardware tool, given the nature of the pattern. Large spatter with thin trail mark that tapers off. Looks like it's just the one hit, too. This wasn't a murder scene here. Whoever got clubbed by this thing is still breathing, I think…Might be your Jorge Amos. That's all I got, I'll call back with more details if you're not in the office tonight."_

Spooner hung up quickly, looking around the room, before clearing her throat. A slight moment of hope clung to the back of her mind. _He could be alive!_

"That was Vice. They checked over the crime scene. They think Jorge may still be alive. There's drag marks from where he was struck."

Rally's heart swelled in her throat for a second, but she quickly forced it back down, her mind suddenly replaying the impact on Jorge's skull as she turned away quickly after.

"…Gameplan?"

-"Looks like we're hitting the warehouse for Jorge and our last two targets," Kovic said quickly, standing up. "I'll arrange to put guards here, and set up the sting. I'll phone you details in one hour. I suggest you two get cleaned up and ready; We're not waiting on you."


	9. Find A Way

Jorge swayed back and forth on that hook for what seemed like an eternity, until he felt the restraints against his wrist slip, he could rotate his wrist suddenly. Looking to the cuffs, he noticed the blood he had shed was lubricating the wrist and his cuffs. With no guard in the room to stop Jorge, he started to work his hand against the aluminum device.

"Gotta…C'mon, you fuck," He muttered to himself, throwing caution to the wind and with a swift thrust, ripped the skin from his hand, as the cuff slipped past his wrist and dangled off his other hand. Dark crimson was now running down the tips of his fingers at a pace faster than anticipated. Reaching up to his bound feet, both his hands free, he took ahold of the large meat hook, and using his core muscles and his upper body strength, attempted to transfer the weight to his upper body while he worked the chains on his feet, kicking the link of the chain off one of the large hooks, eventually freeing his legs as they now dangled a few inches off the ground.

The stress of the weight on his upper body was evident. The blood rushing from his head to his extremities as he was now right-side up overwhelmed him, as he lost his balance and fell to the ground into the pool of his own blood, landing on his side. His ankle struck a nearby table, smashing the already fragile wood apart onto the floor with a loud clatter.

The sound of a door lock being turned, followed by the distressed mewling of ungreased hinges echoed through the empty room, followed by the measured steps of suede shoe heels knocking against the concrete.

"You got loose? Shit. Gotta tell Pisk," The voice said as he reached down to grip the Nude Jorge's hands. Force was suddenly pushed against the man's arms as Jorge attempted to throw him to the ground from his supine position. In the confusion, the man slipped in Jorge's blood, and slammed into the ground, giving Jorge an opportunity. With his blood-caked hands, he jabbed them into the mook's eyes. The screams of the man in pain echoed deep within Jorge's mind as he now sunk his thumbs in deeper.

"Shut up and take it," Jorge bellowed, as there was a sudden rush of fluid against Jorge's hands. The man was now completely blind, as Jorge now removed his hands from the destroyed ocular ports and now pressed his left forearm against the man's throat, while his right hand pressed against his temple, pushing his neck in an awkward angle, a _SNAP_ shuddering through Jorge's body as the mook's screams suddenly stopped, his body went lax, and his horrified expression relaxed, his mouth still agape in an expression of horror.

Jorge did the natural thing, and immediately stripped the man's blood-soaked pants, and put them on his person, zipping them up. They fit a bit tight, but for the most part, were not going anywhere if they were on him. He then searched his kill once more for a weapon, stumbling upon a Khar K9 in the dead man's jacket holster. Fishing two more mags out of the holster and stuffing them into his back pocket, Jorge quickly took the safety off the weapon and looked around the room for the first time.

Despite the white coloration of the walls and the fixtures designed for game slaughtering in the room, there was nothing really assuming of the place. No windows to be seen in this room, he figured. Making his way outside of the room, he came across a long hallway with a series of doorways attached to it, the aesthetic of the room was lit dimly by failing light fixtures along the walls and ceiling. In the distance, he could hear voices approaching, footfalls accompanying them as they paced down the hallway.

"…Sounded like it came from the holding room," One suggested between breaths. The other said nothing as they came up the stairs into Jorge's view. With his pistol ready, he squeezed off three rounds, seeing that one of the rounds hit their mark, as the man cried out in pain while his partner quickly returned fire, forcing Jorge behind a doorway. Both sides squeezed off as many rounds as possible, but Jorge quickly maneuvered from his doorway to intercept the man as he was fixing a jam in his pistol. The bounty hunter quickly ended the man's life, before turning to the target he wounded; laying supine, gripping his thigh.

"I'm gonna bleed out if I don't get a doctor…Please!" He pleased. Jorge let him be, blood loss would take care of him. Jorge's bare feet stepped past pools of blood and spent brass as he moved downstairs, before a sharp pain resonated against the side of his head, forcing him to fall to one knee, subsequently causing the large man to tumble down the last 8 feet of stairs onto the floor.

His ears began to hum and vibrate, reminding him of the impact that had incapacitated him to begin with. Blood was still pouring out of that wound, and his blood loss was only contributing to his light-headed and half-baked thought process at this point. The blood on his hands was making it difficult to hold onto the pistol, and thus, it clattered out of his hand as he fell.

Laying there on the ground, Jorge collected his thoughts and kept an ear out for anyone else coming to investigate. So far, nothing. He took the moment to focus his gaze on the center of his vision, and not the other four blurs dancing around his peripheral. His breaths were labored as he tried to push the feeling of pain back, and forced himself onto his feet. Slowly, he stood and shuffled a bit towards the first doorway he saw.

Gripping onto the doorway for balance, Jorge focused on a table that held a series of gun cases. Behind the table were crates, but what caught his fancy was the black Velcro bag at the end of the table, marked with a bright red cross on it. It was large, and even to Jorge, was a handful to pull off the table.

Pressing his back against the cold concrete, Jorge quickly fumbled his fingers for the zipper, and found it, expanding the pack, before pulling on the Velcro panel to reveal the contents- antibacterial, first-aid spray, pain pills, bandages, a syringe and a vial of clear liquid marked "Adrenalin".

"Medical Epinephrine…Could help, eh?" he muttered to himself silently, as he pushed aside a few bandages to reveal a suture kit and a mirror, as well as a pair of medical gloves. Putting them on, he then readied the spray on his head wound, and with a prolonged press of the can, pumped as much chemical into the wound as possible.

Jorge hollered in pain as he did this, biting his bottom lip so hard he punctured it. Blood now seeped through his teeth as he removed the can's nozzle from his wound, and proceeded to slowly thread his first suture. His hands were unsteady at first, until Jorge tried once more to focus his attention on the act. Successfully threading the needle, he then took the mirror in his off hand and held it to view his workspace as he pressed the needle against his scalp.

His hands were unsteady once more, but this time, nerves were at fault. He lingered on the wound for a moment, before going all in and pressing the needle into his flesh, sinking it in for that first crucial stitch. He winced, but the taste of copper in his mouth distracted him long enough that he could continue.

A noise from outside snapped Jorge's focus, and he glanced over to the doorway he had just entered, hearing the shuffle of feet.

"He's in this room," He heard a voice whisper, as Jorge slowly dropped the needle, the wire dangling from his skull, as he gripped the first gun case off the table, and opened it, revealing an AK-12.

"Nice…" He said, as he quickly pulled it out of its case, along with one of the loaded magazines sitting next to it, and loaded up, pulling the action back, and announcing his presence. He then gripped the table and pushed it over, making cover for himself as he scooted behind it. The mook had just entered as Jorge took cover, narrowly missing a burst of gunfire. Jorge raised the weapon above the table, blind firing towards the doorway.

"Chyort! Go back! Go back and get the others, The Svoloch is here!" The voice screamed as she backpedaled out of the doorway, following her partner.

Now it was a race against the clock. Jorge quickly took the suture needle and rapidly sealed the wound in his head, closing it up as best as he could, only getting halfway, before finding the scissors and snipping off the excess after he tied off the stitches. In a frantic move, he then gripped the sterile syringe and the Adrenalin, and prepared to inject himself with the chemical, now pressing the tip of the syringe against his left arm's vein.

"I hope this doesn't kill me…Can't wait to find out, " He mocked, injecting himself finally. At first, he felt nothing, but soon the chemical seemed to course its way through his mind, his heart and even, he believed, his very soul. The pain he felt earlier was gone, the blurred vision snapped away, even the sensation of fear was gone, if only for that moment.

Standing up, Jorge quickly searched through another gun case, finding another AK, and quickly pilfered the magazines from it, shoving them in his back pocket alongside the pistol mags for the pistol he had lost earlier from falling down the stairs.

Several pairs of footsteps could be heard charging down the hallway, as the gangsters returned with backup.

"In here, he's in here! Kill his ass before he escapes!" He could hear one plead as they now took positions along the atrium. Jorge pressed himself against the concrete next to the doorway as one of the mooks quickly produced a grenade from his bandolier. He pulled the pin and threw it into the doorway.

"Wait! You're supposed to cook it," One suddenly cried out as the frag bounced into Jorge's room. Jorge, without skipping a beat, scooped up the grenade and threw it back, to the surprise and fright of the others, who started to scatter, just as the bomb exploded, shaking a layer of dust and loose concrete off the walls, clattering across the floor and shattering into a multitude of fragments.

Jorge quickly emerged following the explosion, and proceeded to light up anyone he thought was still alive. Thankfully, none were fast enough to escape the detonation, and Jorge had wasted a burst of gunfire.

He said nothing as he slinked away from the atrium, and out into the loading dock of the warehouse. It was abandoned after all, and to Jorge's surprise, surrounded by forest.

Abandoned was a loose-fitting term. In the distance, Jorge could see another building, surrounded by more hired guns, standing around. The bounty hunter made a slight _tch_ noise with his lips, feeling the rough clot of the wound in his mouth against his tongue. Part of him wanted to run up there and engage, but cooler heads prevailed.

Slowly, he turned back and before he could move, he clutched his chest. The Adrenalin was starting to hit its full potency. Gasping for air, Jorge started to slowly move back towards the room where his first aid kit was, as well as the unmarked crates in the back of the room. His vision narrowed as he staved off the effects of the drug long enough, and focus his frantic efforts to clothing himself, and finding gear to fight back.

They'd regret leaving him alone to his own devices, he knew that much to be true.

[CPD/ATF Strike Team Convoy en route to McMahon Woods]

[Rear Vehicle with Rally, May, Agents Spooner and Kovic]

[5 minutes earlier]

Through the silence of the woods, a line of almost twenty vehicles- cars, SUVs, vans, drove in a convoy through the forest, their lights off as they sped through the winding roads. Within the rear vehicle, Kovic, Spooner, Rally and May sat anxiously as Kovic drove with one hand on the wheel, the other on the CB radio of his unmarked Crown Victoria.

"Car one, when you enter the premises, you and cars two through five will block off any exits you find. The rest of us will storm the premises and apprehend our suspects…" He released his finger off the trigger of his microphone, turning his head to the back seat for a moment.

"Ladies, You three go look for Amos."

Neither of the three said anything as the view of the winding road seemed to clear a bit in the distance, revealing two large buildings, a warehouse, and what looked like a small office building, with three floors. Both buildings were separated by a decent stretch of unpaved road, and surrounded by a weak-looking chain link fence.

"…I hope we're not too late," Spooner said softly, taking her 1911 out of her holster and taking the safety off. Rally, in her false stoic demeanor, huffed quietly and reached into her blouse jacket, retrieving her CZ-75 and cocking it. Minnie May, in her handicapped situation, gave an uneasy look as she glanced over to rally, who was busy checking her weapon.

"Rally," She whispered. Rally turned and gave a clueless raised eyebrow.

"…I'm going to need my chair before you go bouncing off to go find your boyfriend."

Rally merely shook her head as she considered her words.

"He's not a boyfriend. But he is our friend. At the very least, a good ally to have on our side…I just hope we're not going to find him dead moments before we save him…I genuinely fear that the most."

\- "As do I: he's a tough son of a bitch, but I don't know if I could stand to see him like that…"

"You two were close," Rally suggested quietly, her gaze shifting somewhat to the fence ahead of them, now only a few hundred meters away.

-"Once…If you're thinking about it-"

"I wasn't, I Just-"

The vehicle stopped suddenly.

"Let's move, everyone," Kovic bellowed, his service pistol in his hand as he exited the vehicle.

As the other three exited the vehicle, they could see the first group of ATF/CPD officers engaging the sentries outside the office building in the compound. They responded in kind by returning fire, garnering the attention of the rest of the contingent of gangsters. They shattered the windows of the building to return fire from their elevated positions, forcing the strike teams back behind their vehicles for cover.

Jorge could hear gunfire outside, which got his hopes up somewhat, as he finished tying the lace on a pair of boots he had found in the crates. Still shirtless and blood still running from various wounds inflicted on his body from the torture, Jorge quickly picked up the AK he had rested against the wall and ran out to the courtyard. His breaths labored, he could see the myriad of police vehicles and officers and agents with their backs to him, engaging the gangsters within the building. They appeared to be having a difficult time attempting to breach the building.

Jorge only gave the situation a moment's thought, before he turned back inside to the room he had just left, and searched through the rest of the weapons cases, hoping to find a DMR. Instead, he found more AK-12s and a myriad of sight apertures, including an ACOG.

"Good enough," he muttered softly, as he picked up the attachment, and quickly slapped it onto the picatinny rail along the top of the handguard, before heading back outside, before taking aim with his new sight.

Rally, Minnie May and Agent Spooner had taken cover back behind the vehicle, which had been peppered with automatic fire. Their attention was focused at the building in front of them, instead of Jorge, who was busy picking off mooks that showed themselves from the window.

Rally was the first to notice, as she stopped hiding for a moment, her blue eyes focusing on Jorge's figure, crouched against a concrete wall, his blood smeared against it showing his movement to his firing position.

"Jorge!," She yelled, pointing to him. Jorge noticed her, but continued to provide suppressing fire, as Kovic motioned for the rest of the strike team to enter the building. Within moments, it was over, the gunfire had stopped suddenly, and Jorge put his weapon down, planting his butt into the ground, his knees bunched up against his chest, as he rested his head against his legs.

Jorge's skin seemed to burn white-hot, and then the sensation, and his vision ceased.


	10. Milk, Blood, And Stone

-"Jorge!"

The ringing in Jorge's ears dulled to a low, ominous roar as light started to enter past Jorge's eyelids, snapping them wide open.

Around him, a hospital room, a TV showing a variety show, and off to his left, alone in the room with him-

"Rally," His voice hoarse, raspy, an obvious need of moisture. It wasn't until he finished calling her name that he noticed the tubes protruding out of his nose, pushing air into his lung. Rally looked towards Jorge from the window, her expression warmed at his voice.

-"Jorge…Hey," She said, unconvinced at her own words. Slowly, she stood and walked to his bedside, her arms crossed against her chest, apprehensive to get any closer than she was now. "The fact you're awake right now is a good sign…"

-"I remember putting my weapon down…then a doctor saying something, but that's it; how long have I been out?"

"Three days," She concluded, her iconic brown jacket bundled up against her arms as he looked back outside, the overcast sky hiding the beautiful sunlight that had glanced through the windows of the recovery room. "You had over thirty deep lacerations, and acute blood loss. Not to mention blunt-force trauma…Still, you still look good enough for an open coffin funeral."

Jorge seemed out of it, his vision seemed slightly hazy as he focused. "…I suppose I should be grateful…for a lot of things."

The door to his room opened and a doctor entered quietly, her blonde hair and pink scrubs catching the man's attention. "Oh Good," She said, checking her wristwatch. "You're awake…I'm Doctor Soto, I was present during your operation helping the surgeon put you back together. You gave us a big scare. You lost a lot of blood, and most of those cuts on your body were deep enough that they needed cauterizing and sutures. That blow to the head fractured your skull a bit, but the swelling was negligible, so we didn't have to operate on that, other than making sure the suture job was well enough to be left alone…The black eyes and hazy vision should last for a few days, at most…"

She walked up to Jorge, a penlight in hand, and with her off-hand, opened Jorge's left eye and flashed the bulb into it. "Yeah," She said softly, "Everything's looking good. We should have you up and walking here come suppertime, if you're up to it."

-"Thanks, Doc…I think walking would do me some good…at least I could get out of here sooner, right?" Jorge slowly pushed himself up in his bed to rest his back properly against the mattress, as the doctor reached for the clipboard at the end of his bed and wrote down notes.

"That's the plan," Soto said, dismissively. "I'm just going to update your chart and let the nurses know that you're awake…I'll also let your employer know you've come to." With that, Doctor Soto left as quickly as she had arrived, leaving Rally and Jorge alone once again.

Time seemed to stop, even amidst the commercials playing in the background. Rally looked beside herself for a moment, before clearing her throat, relaxing her posture a bit, her hands now in her jacket pockets.

"…I thought you were dead," Rally said softly. "When that crowbar hit you…I'm sorry I couldn't do anything to-"

-"Stop," Jorge said, lifting a sore arm up, as if he pressed an imaginary pause button on the conversation. "You did your job, and that's all I expected you to do. I take responsibility for what happened because I told you to go. So, if anybody should be apologizing, it should be me. I should apologize for putting you in a situation where you thought a teammate had gotten himself killed from his own stupid bravado."

Rally stood there, her gaze now shifted on the floor in contemplation. Those blue orbs seemed to analyze every consonant Jorge uttered now, and upon finding her words, she looked into Jorge's eyes.

"I forgive you. I forgive every stupid decision you made that day…Just like I want you to forgive me for judging you that day back in the factory. I swore to myself I'd never needlessly kill anyone, but when I saw you breaking my rule, a rule I never asked you to follow, I got upset…"

She rested her left hand on the bed's railing as she took a deep breath, stifling the anger she held in her voice as she continued.

"My mother died in a robbery attempt, gunned down trying to serve my father divorce papers. I was too young to do anything, myself. But my father went after them…And I had to learn to take care of myself. I saw him again a few years ago, but he changed. He seemed empty, like all the time and effort he put into getting revenge destroyed every other facet of his existence. He lived for vengeance. He killed every man that got in his way…So maybe that's why I didn't appreciate your approach, as it reminded me of my father…"

Jorge contemplated his past actions for the moment, looking at his hands, scarred and rough-looking. He remembered every face he killed, that much he was aware of, and he could empathize. Rally continued, undoing the first button to her jacket.

"But when I think about you, and your reasons why…It's not because you choose to do it willingly…It's because you do it because that's all you've trained to do. Every single time you've fired your weapon in anger, you've done it for the sole purpose of killing someone…That isn't your fault. It's a conditioned response."

-"Responses can be changed," Jorge said softly, resting his head back to look up to the ceiling. "This isn't what I wanted out of life, Rally. I wanted to be successful from my own merits, not as a direct result of my anger, or my thirst for adventure…Yet, that's all I've done. I've carved a path to riches from the blood of those who opposed me…By all rights, I deserve death every day that I'm alive, because I've stolen so many lives from others…but the funny thing is, I didn't care about it; didn't willingly think about it, 'til you came along and questioned me."

Jorge took a moment to reach out and grip Rally's arm gently, giving a gentle squeeze. They locked eyes yet again, his smile weak, but genuine. "I need someone like that. Everyday."

Rally's cheeks burned as he said that.

 _He basically told me what I've told May time and time again, my exact words…_ She thought, her stomach flipped a bit as she battled with her words.

"...Jorge."

-"Yeah."

"Are you in any pain right now?"

-"Yes."

 _Stupid. Just tell him you care,_ her mind chided. Rally reached out to Jorge's hand on her arm, and took it in hers.

"I, erm…," She mumbled. Jorge shook his head and slowly moved his hand away from hers.

-"Sorry. I get it…Nothing personal. That's my fault."

"No, it's not that, it's just…I don't want to lose anyone else close to me. You, or Minnie May, or even Molly, that insufferable bitch…Most of all, I don't want to have to go through the painful process of forgetting you if anything happened."

There. It was out now. Jorge replied with a single phrase.

"Wilco."

They stood there, admiring each other's silent company, if only for a moment, before the door opened again. Kovic's large frame moved quietly inside, holding a card and a small balloon.

"Heard there was a mean son of a bitch in this room. Wanted to give him something to forget his troubles. I would've brought bourbon, but nowadays, can't even bring in a Pez dispenser without getting told the riot act…here. Field office thanks you, but we're not done yet."

Jorge took a moment to press the button for pain, the IV drip administering morphine to his drip. The bounty hunter relaxed a bit as he took the card and balloon in one hand.

"Better be a gift card to a Pizza joint…Been in Chi-town for three days, still ain't had a slice of pie yet." Kovic laughed, but shook his head as he put his hands in his pockets.

-"Too expensive, got you tickets to a Bears game. Don't ask…Anyway, that raid on the compound we made trying to save your ass? Turns out we hit a motherlode for weapons trafficking…hell, we pulled all the numbers from their office phone, and we have contacts from Russia, China, Japan, Belarus, Italy, France; we could hold our own Interpol meeting, I mean this thing is _global_ ," Kovic muttered.

"What about Pisk, Brushwood, Khan?" Kovic's smile disappeared for a moment.

-"They ghosted. Completely. Zero trace of them…"

-"Shit," Rally muttered, her arms crossed now in frustration as she went back to her chair to sit. "There goes any chance of resolving this issue in our favor."

"Well, what we've dug up on Brushwood since Jorge gave us her name yielded interesting results…And they're not good," Kovic concluded, reaching into his trench coat and producing a few pictures, handing them to Rally, as she thumbed through them.

-"My God…Khan hired something worse than an assassin. He hired a terrorist. Jorge, You have to look at these pictures…" Jorge, quietly stifling the fear in his spine, reached out to retrieve the pictures from Rally's warm, soft hands. For a moment, their hands touched, and they both lingered there for just a moment, before Jorge took the pictures away, viewing them.

The images revealed Brushwood dressed in military fatigues, surrounded by a variety of masked paramilitary, holding a blue flag with a green star. Brushwood stood there, an AK in her hand, standing with a stoic expression, as Kovic started to brief Jorge.

"This is Unit Thirty-Six, they're a new paramilitary group operating in the middle east. Most of them are westerners who arrived in the region to purge the region of Islamic extremist groups. Sounds good, right? Here's the thing, they don't want to only remove these groups, but they want to specifically engage in genocide in these regions, until the region is clean to create a new country, one with the capability of destroying any fanatical group within the theater of operations. Brushwood is a lieutenant of this group, in charge of the intelligence branch of Unit Thirty-Six, known as the "Fox Cadets". They're personally responsible for over 400 murders in the Afghanistan-Pakistan region."

Jorge looked through another photograph, showing Brushwood in a modern airport, along with a handful of other terrorists opening fire on someone out of frame.

"Just last year, Brushwood led a small group into Iran's airport and detonated over twelve bombs, dismantling and destroying millions of dollars in property, as well as killing over twenty civilians, before engaging Quds forces and disappearing without a trace. The other terrorists were killed, but Brushwood got away scot-free, and she's been laying low since then…"

-"Until recently," Jorge muttered as he looked at the third photograph, a picture of a document. Shown in good detail, Kovic then continued. "Her goal in the states is to recruit fighters, but for now, she wants to finish her contract. That means killing you, Rally, and Minnie. Once that's out of the way, there's no telling what she might do to accomplish her goals."

Jorge took a moment to pause, before he gave a deep sigh. "So, she's using Khan to find fighters for her group?" Kovic nodded, but then reached out for the photographs, taking them back. "So far, it doesn't look like that's her focus, though. It seems like _you're_ her focus…So, once we find her, we arrest her, then get the information out of her."

-"Wait-wait…You're using me as bait? After what just happened?" Jorge asked, frustrated and somewhat angry at this request. Kovic backed down a bit, before shaking his head.

"No, not bait. She's obviously got some beef with you, so we can use that to our advantage- we can capture her alive and have you question her…You don't have to risk your neck again, so much as cajole her into coming out of hiding." Rally seemed concerned, as her blue eyes shifted between Kovic and Jorge, before checking her watch and interjecting.

"I don't think There's any real way to get her out of hiding unless Jorge actually goes out in public looking for trouble with Khan's gang, or the outfit…Speaking of which, what _is_ the story with the supposed gang war?" Kovic seemed to chuckle, shaking his head.

"Well," He started, before reaching into another of his many coat pockets to produce a flask, opening it and taking a swig of the contents, his face puckering up a bit as he started off. "It goes down something like this- The Salakau, Bratva, and the Outfit each want a cut of the profits from drugs, sex, and guns. Just before Jorge arrived at my office, the Salakau and the Bratva joined forces to fight back the Outfit's intrusion on their territories…The Outfit is much larger than the other two gangs, but the other two have more money, and thus, a bigger hand in internal affairs in Chicago. The Salakau-Bratva alliance dabble in guns and drugs…The human trafficking I mentioned? That's the Outfit's bag…When Jorge took part in the raid at Belmont Harbor, it was the beginning of the end for the Salakau's independent operations. From then on, they worked alongside the Bratva to secure more money and assets for their schemes. The Outfit, on the other hand, we're not too worried about their operations right now…Aside from the sting we're working on currently on a suspected sex house."

-"So, if we want Brushwood's attention," Rally surmised, "Then we need to give her notice that Jorge is still alive. We join your sex sting, arrest some creeps, save some people, and encourage the alliance to act a bit bolder, thinking the heat is off them, right?"

"Exactly," Kovic said with a smile. "Your girlie-friend gets it." Jorge shook his head and laughed.

"She's…" He was going to say otherwise, but decided against it in that moment, as he looked at the dusky woman's expression, a slight smile on her face as she watched her, his mind drawing her like a portrait. "Pretty smart," He concluded. "So if we're going to do this, let's do it. Tell me, what leads do you want the Gunsmith Cats to investigate? Also, if you could provide me with a new vehicle, I'd greatly appreciate it- I lost the last one to-"

-"North of Midway Airport. On Cicero between 47th and Archer. Rally, you're a native, you show the good man where the nice ladies go turn tricks…As for the vehicle thing, say no more…"

Kovic reached once more into his pocket and tossed Jorge a pair of keys. "When you leave, it'll be the red Mercedes-Benz. It's a 500 E series with some...after market parts." Jorge seemed a bit dumbfounded, tilting his head. "Isn't this your car?"

-"Was. It's yours now. Besides, I bought a Prius last week."

"Rich asshole," Jorge poked. Kovic smiled and walked out, putting his flask away. As he exited the door, he spoke.

"Your doctor's coming. Good news, I bet."


	11. Digging A Hole To Venus

_THIS MESSAGE IS ENCRYPTED USING NIST KG-L22 ALGORITHM_

 _ **NSA OFFICES HAVE MARKED SERVER CONNECTION AS SAFE. YOU MAY PROCEED TO SEND TRAFFIC FREELY.**_

 _From:[redacted]  
Recipient:ATFChicagoSpooner3  
Subject: Jorge says he's ready for assignments…_

 _Jorge has been insufferable since he got released from the hospital, says he's tired of sitting around and waiting, wants to take part in opening up a line to the outfit with you guys; frankly, we're all a bit bored here. Any leads?_

 _-R.V._

 _From: ATFChicagoSpooner3  
Recipient: [redacted]  
Subject: Re: Jorge says he's ready for assignments…_

 _Yeah, we have plans to break ground into the sex trafficking affiliated with The Chicago Outfit. Is Jorge interested? Better yet: Is Jorge making you bored? I would've thought you two would've been keeping each other company._

 _-Spooner_

 _From:[redacted]  
Recipient:ATFChicagoSpooner3  
Subject:Re:Re: Jorge says he's ready for assignments…_

 _Jorge says he's ready, and to give him a call when it's time. Response: No, he's not making me bored; it's not even like that._

 _-R.V._

 _From:_ ATFChicagoSpooner3 _  
Recipients: [redacted]  
Subject: Re:Re:Re: Jorge says he's ready for assignments…  
_  
 _Whatever you say. I see how you look at each other._

 _Anyway: Plan's going down like this: You and Kovic will enter the house, posing as sex tourists. Chicago PD runs interference and monitors radio traffic. You go in, buy a girl, walk out. We're not sure if there are armed guards there, but if they catch on, avoid confrontation; there's too high a chance for collateral damage if you get into a shootout. Rally and Minnie May will park a few blocks from the house to drop you off and act as your pick up once you have the HVT. Molly says her intel points to the house being watched by the Mob 24/7, so we'll have to do this quick._

 _House matron will ask you if you're there for the washing machine, tell them you're looking for a quiet tumbler._

 _-Spooner_

[3 Days Later]

[Cicero Street]

 __Jorge sat in the backseat of Rally's Shelby, his left hand resting on one of his larger wounds on his abdomen, as he felt every bump and shift of weight in the car due to Rally's reckless driving.

"How the hell do you still have a license, Rally?" Jorge asked between jostles. Minnie May, seated in the passenger seat, turned around and gave him a wagging index finger.

"No license." She said it in such a flat manner of speaking, Jorge didn't have time to consider the weight of her words. Then they hit him a moment later. The shocked look on Jorge's face was humorous to Minnie May, as she turned back and laughed into her hands to stifle the noise over the roar of the engine as Rally shifted down, stopping at a light. She turned her head back to look at Jorge, who had recomposed himself, before speaking off-hand about their job.

"Jorge, are you sure you want to do this? If this goes pear-shaped, you'll be right in the thick of it…" Jorge shook his head, before taking the Springfield XD he had bought from Rally after the incident, and in its holster, tucked it behind his back, in his waistband. He pulled his T-shirt down over it, silhouetting it underneath, before checking the interceptor vest under his shirt as well.

\- "Should be good, Rally…Tell me, does it look like I'm packing anything?" Rally took a moment to pull off to the side of the road, stepping out of the car, and pulling her seat forward so that Jorge could exit.

Stepping from that low crouch he had assumed, he now stood tall above Rally. Her hands gently pulled down Jorge's black T-shirt, before stepping to each side, looking down his green cargo pants, and black tennis shoes, checking for bulges. Not finding anything wrong to her, Rally smiled at Jorge, giving a nod. "Looks good," She muttered, before reaching back down into the car. "Minnie, the radio."

Minnie May opened the glove compartment, and beyond the pistol Rally kept for safe-keeping, resided a radio the ATF had given to Jorge for this sting. Rally quickly turned it on, and checked the frequency, before checking her watch. 11:29:30.

"Thirty Seconds before go. Good luck, Jorge. Kovic's already waiting for you, I see…" She said, pointing further down the block, where Kovic was indeed waiting at the other end of the block, dressed in a Cubs Jersey and a pair of faded jeans and white sneakers. Quietly, Jorge took off from the car, and rendezvoused with Kovic, who was busy puffing on a cigarette.

"My wife would kill me if she saw me here, kid…" Kovic muttered quietly. Jorge rose an eyebrow as he gently patted Kovic's shoulder as if they knew each other for years.

-"Didn't know you were married," Jorge retorted, before walking towards the front door of the sex den. Kovic responded as he followed the bounty hunter.

"Yeah, once. She took the house. Fuckin' bitch," He stated, his voice flat and somewhat bitter in its diction as he watched Jorge knock on the door.

-" _Who is it,"_ A weak voice responded. Jorge leaned forward against the door, to listen to any noise from behind the door. The sound of some movement could be heard, as well as the sound of a pistol cocking. _"Are you here for the washing machine?"_

"Yeah," Kovic responded. "Looking for one with a quiet tumbler, last one made too much noise."

The locks on the door suddenly clicked, and the screen door suddenly became a screen window, allowing Kovic and Jorge to view inside. The den was shoddy, but clean. A dog peered its nose curiously at the new guests, as the matron, a middle-aged, stout woman, peered at the two of them for a moment, gauging them.

"Yeah…Good to see you two are seeing the sights; you from around here, or…"

-"We wanted to get a good look at the fun spots in Chicago. Friend of mine back in Colorado said this was the spot," Jorge answered without skipping a beat. This seemed to impress the woman, and she then opened the screen door, allowing the men in. "Thank you," Jorge responded. "I'm Aaron, and this is my cousin, Bernie."

-" 'Cousins…' Right," The woman chided. "You bisexuals are really hush-hush with your extra-curricula's…Okay, merchandise is down the hall here." With that, the woman had already taken several steps from the den, down a lonely hallway with a single door, which she opened, to reveal a staircase leading downstairs. The TV in the den blared so loud with the day's news, neither Jorge or Kovic could hear what the woman said after she had walked away from them.

Following behind her, they made their way downstairs to come across a series of sectioned off walls, with openings facing a narrow walkway to the right of the stairs, where the woman had waited for them. As they approached, she took off once again, slowly pointing to a chamber, eventually.

"This girl…" She said, lingering her pointer finger against the satin curtain. "Is damaged goods, that I can guarantee you fine gentlemen…" She pulled the curtain back, revealing a young woman, dressed in a modest skirt and blouse, crouched up against a mattress, a book in her hands as her blue hues snapped up from reading to see the three of them at her doorway; a smile creeped on her face, as if she was trying to make the situation even more awkward than it already was.

" _but,"_ The woman said with a perverse smile. "She's made a returning customer out of any man willing to get his tail wet by a professional."

"What's her name," Jorge asked. "And how much."

\- "Elaine. And for you two cuties…Two Grand will cover an hour. That's a steal for a woman like her."

Kovic decided enough was enough. With a quick draw of his weapon, he immediately pulled out his badge in his off-hand, and aimed the weapon at the woman.

"ATF, don't move!" The woman did as instructed, as Kovic pocketed the badge, reaching for the woman's wrists to subdue her onto her knees. Jorge did the sane thing, and quickly reached for Elaine with an open hand.

-"Come on, we're getting out of here, get the others." Elaine said nothing to Jorge as she quickly went down the hallway, rounding all the workers in the basement, before following Jorge upstairs to the house.

As Jorge took the last step to the landing, a gunshot impacted the soft wood against the doorframe above his head, which caused Amos to stutter step backwards and draw his pistol. He turned quickly to motion for the crowd behind him to keep quiet, as he peaked his head out for just a moment to scan the room: A single man stood by the front door, his weapon trained at the basement door. Jorge laid down on his stomach against the stairs and quickly aimed his pistol just outside the doorway, firing blindly. Each shot he took was returned by the mobster, until silence fell after Amos' magazine went dry.

A momentary lapse in judgement, before Jorge noticed the silhouette of another target in the doorway. His eyes caught the edge of a pair of dress flats, black stockings, working their way against a sultry pair of legs, slowly easing their way to the hem of a skirt just above the knees. Finally, his eyes focused on the blue hues of Rally, who had just subdued the mook, his body curled up in pain against a coffee table. Genuinely surprised, Jorge gave a half-smile, before motioning his head as he asked for assistance.

"Howdy," he grunted, rolling off onto his side, motioning down the stairs. "Care to take care of these civilians while I go back downstairs and help Kovic…" Rally gave a quick nod, before starting to beckon the congregation of sex workers out of the basement and out the front door, into the waiting security of police officers just outside.

Jorge stood up and turned to face the bottom of the stairs, noticing Kovic escorting the Sex dealer up the stairs. The three of them finally exited the building, to be met by a pair of black-suited agents, their eyes covered by pitch-black sunglasses. The first man took the detained woman, and escorted her to an unmarked car, while the second man reached into his jacket pocket, and pulled out a badge.

"Gentlemen, I'm Special Agent Nix. CIA Internal Affairs. There is a security concern- You two are coming with me…" He then pointed towards Rally as well. "So is she. Agent Haas, Detain that woman." Like a shot, the Agent that had just taken the sex dealer and closed the unmarked vehicle turned around like a shot, and quickly gripped Rally's wrist. She resisted, but was met with a swift shove of her face against the pavement, pacifying her. Jorge, watching this, quickly pushed Agent Nix out of the way, and in a dead sprint, landed a knee against Agent Haas' stomach, the suited agent doubling over in pain, allowing Jorge to reach Rally's doubled-over body.

Jorge kneeled to grasp Rally's shoulders as her motionless body rested there for a moment, before she came back to consciousness. With a gasp and a pained cough, she lifted her head off the asphalt and reeled her head back slowly, revealing the gash on her forehead from the impact, crimson dashed across her face in an artistic-like swoop, cresting from her brow to her chin along the left side of her face. The mix of blood and the dusky, sweat glistened color of her skin made her blue eyes stand out even more than before as she rested back into Jorge's arm, before she brought a hand to her face to wipe away the blood.

"Prick…" She muttered softly, as she sat up away from Jorge. The two agents then unceremoniously snapped cuffs on both of them, before being hitched up by the surprisingly strong Agents, and shuffled into a waiting car.

Kovic, who ran behind the agents, holstered his weapon and started to bark at them, his anger fuming past his collar.

"You are out of your jurisdiction! This is a Joint CPD/ATF sting operation, and you're interfering with police business! I'll have your badge numbers by tonight and you'll both be on suspension!"

-"On the contrary," Agent Haas mocked as he shoved Jorge into the vehicle, " _We're_ In control of your operation now, Attorney General's orders. The game has changed. Meet us at our regional office…"

[Sometime later]

[FBI Regional Office, Chicago]

Jorge sat quietly in the slate grey interrogation room, his wrists bound by handcuffs and pinned to the table, giving him just enough slack for him to reach across the table and grip a glass of water provided for him.

The door across from him opened, and from the darkness, Agent Nix entered, sitting in the chair across from Jorge, putting a pack of cigarettes onto the table, as he quietly looked through a file.

"Jorge Quincy Amos. Ex-ISA operative, working for the United States Government. Currently a freelance bounty hunter. You're playing for the wrong team, Jorge."

-"Am I," Gorge asked quietly, reaching across the table for the cigarettes. Agent Nix obliged the man and lit the cigarette with a lighter he produced from his pocket, lighting Jorge's cigarette.

Jorge continued: "Last time I checked, I was fighting a crime syndicate responsible for the uptick in gun violence and drug distribution and production in Chicago…recently moved on to disrupting Mob operations in the city, namely the illegal sex trade going on unchecked. Unfortunately for you, Agent Nix, I know you guys have had a substantial thumb on this paper trail for the last 5 years…And you've done nothing about it…"

He took a long drag of the cigarette, exhaling slowly through his nostrils, his eyes looking to Nix's shaded visage.

"Until now."


End file.
